


Not Your (soul)Mate

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019 (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-05-14 04:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 83,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.He’s screwed. And not in the good way.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello again, friends! I'm really excited to get to share this story with you guys! I know the premise seems a little ridiculous (and it is), but I swear this story has plot! And one that I'm really proud of! I have several chapters already written and saved up, so I should be posting pretty regularly! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy ❤️

One.

Two.

Three.

It’s the pattern he keeps tapping against his thigh as he sits at his desk, the clock on the wall ticking loud enough for him to hear. If he’s busy enough, it’s silent. But when he has time to idle and not focus on something in particular, when he’s anxious to get to go home, he can hear each individual tick as the seconds and minutes pass by. He’s always been sensitive to sounds, the quietest of whispers sometimes equivalent to yelling directly in his ear, but over the years, he’s learned to block the sounds out, to control how voices and taps and screeches affect him.

His clock is driving him insane.

He wants to go home.

And it’s not because he hates his job or anything. Sure, some days it’s like actual torture, nails on a chalkboard multiplied by at least seventeen, especially with the sensitivity of his ears, but most of the time he enjoys designing boats, ships, and the like. He enjoys working with Liam every single day and getting to draw up someone’s dream vessel like he often did as a child when he had nothing more than a pencil and a notebook of battered paper. Really, his job is a way to make his childhood dreams become a reality but in a financially responsible way.

For him. Not for the people who buy custom boats.

He likely wouldn’t enjoy it if he didn’t make any money. Designing boats is a hell of a lot of fun, but he does so enjoy having an apartment (some of the American terms have integrated into his vocabulary by now it seems) to go home to and food to eat. Honestly, he likes tea far too much to not be able to afford it.

How stereotypically British is he?

It doesn’t even matter. He likes tea, and he won’t let anyone try to convince him otherwise. His cabinet in his kitchen keeps him supplied with caffeine, and if it’s all arranged by size of bag and flavor, no one has to know that. He doesn’t live with anyone, so it’s completely fine.

Liam would make fun of him for ages if he knew of all of Killian’s little tendencies and specificities on how to run his life. Liam already has too much fun teasing him about the binders and books on his shelves in his office, but really, of all of the places to be organized, why not in the office? It’s not his fault that Liam lives in a disorganized mess.

Once a Navy man, always a Navy man doesn’t quite hold true when it comes to one half of the team at The Jewel: A Boating Design Company. He was never sold on the name, but it was Liam’s idea so he went along with it. And the odd name hasn’t seemed to keep any clients away, so it’s obviously worked out.

He still wants to go home.

And technically he could. Technically he’s a boss here and could go home whenever he wants, but he doesn’t like to leave before six. It’s bad business, and it’s never a bad thing to keep his mind focused on work. He’s always got a million thoughts whirling around in his head, and focusing on work keeps him grounded.

But today is a different day. Today is difficult for him. It’s an anniversary of sorts, but it’s not the good kind. It’s not roses (or sunflowers because in his opinion, roses are overrated) and wine and beautiful jewelry over a nice dinner with small servings when all people really want is to sit at home and eat pizza on the couch. No, it’s an anniversary of loss.

Of loss that’s not as final as death, and yet it still has its own particular sting that tends to linger. It’s a loss in his life that he’s felt many a time, but this one, this particular woman, well, her loss stung the most.

Her loss stings the most.

And it’s all because of the universe and its twisted sense of fate. He doesn’t mean that in a “weird shit happens” kind of way. He means that in the universe is a piece of shit that has lives decided before the people who live them are even born. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you live. The universe is always standing at the plate ready to throw a curveball and strike you out.

One strike.

Two strikes.

Three strikes.

You’re out.

Soulmate.

Or soul mate with two words. The universe has everything predestined, but apparently, they couldn’t decide on words in dictionaries and whether or not it was one combined word or two separate words. And that’s just scratching the surface of language and grammar, and he only speaks English and a tiny bit of French. Things just get more complicated when you move beyond that.

But that’s not the point. He can worry about grammar on another day. Right now he’s thinking about the unfortunateness of soulmates (soul mates…nope, he’s just going to decide it’s one word for him) and just how completely screwed up it all is.

No one really knows how the human race figured out that there are two people who are perfectly matched up in every single way. It doesn’t mean there aren’t fights and arguments and petty squabbles over who did the dishes or turning the air conditioner up too high. It simply means that somewhere out there, there’s a person who, when it counts, matches up to you so well that the universe has decided to they are your person.

They are the Christina Yang to your Meredith Grey.

(Yes, he’s watched Grey’s Anatomy, and no, he is not ashamed...of seasons one through six. It gets a little murky after that.)

But what happens if your soulmate dies? What happens if you never meet them? What happens if you fall in love with someone only to find out that their sign or their mark or their soul doesn’t at all match up with yours? What happens if you love someone so deeply that you don’t think your heart can take it anymore, and they leave you because the words written across their ankle are not also written across yours?

What happens if you don’t have words written at all?

He doesn’t. He doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t have any kind of indication as to how to find this so-called perfect match of his. He has no idea.

And he doesn’t need to ask the question of what happens when you love someone who is not your soulmate because he knows. He knows that the love can be real and deep and true, and yet the moment that person finds their matching mark, suddenly things start to crumble and fall apart. Questions begin to be asked, and there are no answers. There are no answers that are correct anyhow. It’s as if you’re taking one of those standardized tests where all four answers are correct, but you have to choose the one that’s the most correct.

Bullocks.

That’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, and yet he’s taken the standardized tests. He had to, but that’s really not the point.

(Also, he wonders if soulmate magic is real, are other types of magic real? Is Harry Potter based off of something true? Could he have gone to Hogwarts?)

Milah found her soulmate, and it wasn’t him. She loved him, but she let him go. And he cannot begrudge her for it. No, she’s doing what will truly make her happy, and he wants her to be happy. She deserves it.

He just wishes that it had been him.

The universe apparently had other ideas.

And four years later, he still doesn’t know his mark.

Four years later, he still loves her even if he shouldn’t, even if he knows he should have moved on.

Liam could hear Elsa’s thoughts at night when he was lying down to sleep. It wasn’t in his dreams, though he has heard of those, but simply once the darkness fell outside. They’d known each other in their thoughts since they were children, a love predestined and predetermined that found its way to life despite the countries that were spread out between them. He’s always been jealous of his older brother for a lot of things, but knowing who his love is and getting to know her for his entire life, that may be the thing which fills him with the most envy.

He’s not even sure that he wants to know who his soulmate is, but when he thinks of his brother and the happiness of his life with his wife and his children, he wonders how two people so genetically similar could have such different paths in life.

Robin’s had been a simple tattoo on his forearm. He knew that all he needed was to find his match, and even though it took into his mid-thirties, he did.

Mid-thirties are truly not old – especially since he himself just turned thirty five – but in a society that is obsessed with love and procreation, Robin might as well have been a lonely elderly man with no chance at love…and Robin’s a man. It’s much worse for women, which is fundamentally unfair. But he’s a designer of boats, not a designer of the universe, so he can’t exactly fix that.

Will, well, Will’s soulmate sign is one that Killian is rather fond of if he’s honest. He found Belle because he’d started spending time in a library, and whenever he would touch certain books, fingerprints would start glowing. They were small, dainty things, so he knew that they weren’t his. But the prints glowed, and as he moved throughout the library, he noticed that every book had fingerprints that glowed. And thus he found Belle, the librarian, and even though they don’t seem to match up, they do.

Everyone he knows is living life with someone they’re supposed to be with, happiness and issues all combined, and he’s…not.

He doesn’t think his life will suddenly become perfect if he were to meet this mystery woman. He doesn’t. His life is wonderful. He loves his friends and family. He loves his job and his hobbies. He loves his life.

Today is simply a hard day.

Today is simply a day of loss.

But tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow he’ll go back to normal, and he won’t feel the loss of his love so much.

As much.

“Hey, did you get the Santos order?”

“Shit,” he mumbles, jumping in his seat at Ariel’s voice. He knows that she likely spoke at a normal volume, but he wasn’t focusing and had zoned out. Her voice startled him. It doesn’t help that she takes pleasure in annoying him. “Sorry, love. You surprised me.”

“I knocked three times there, Jones,” she sighs, walking into his office and dropping a note down on his desk. “I know it’s late in the day and all, but you’re really zoning out.”

“That is the pot calling the kettle black, A,” he laughs, rolling forward in his chair to look at the note she has, her chicken scratch written across the notecard. “You zone out at lunch thinking about how someone invented the fork.”

“It’s true. You’ve got to think about things like that. You okay though? You’ve got that pensive, brooding look all over your face.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before looking up at her and stretching his hands up behind his head, the small ache pleasant. “I’m going to fire you for someone who doesn’t know me as well.”

“My severance package would be fantastic, so you can go ahead and do that. But I also know you’d be lost without me, so that’s not going to happen. No one else in the world knows which pens of yours not to use.”

“That can be taught.”

“Yeah, but no one else is going to accept your weirdness.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Anyways,” she sighs, sitting down in the chair across from his desk and crossing her leg over her knee, “Eric and I are having a dinner at our house on Friday night, and you’re coming.”

He raises an eyebrow while he tries to keep his lips from curling up into a smile because he knows exactly why they’re having a dinner. She’s been his assistant for three years, and somewhere along the way she became one of his closest friends. She also drives him mad with how she doesn’t listen to him at all.

“Are you not even asking? Just demanding?”

She shrugs and flicks a speck off of her pants. “I’m telling you. It’s at seven, lots of our friends are coming, and you will be there if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.”

He hums and taps his fingers against the desk, the sound of his clock no longer in his earshot. “Fine. I think maybe I can be persuaded by some free food that I know is really a dinner party to announce your pregnancy.”

Her lips part, jaw nearly dropping, before she snaps it shut and gets up, walking over to him and knocking him upside the head. “You’re an asshole. That’s supposed to be a secret. How the hell did you know?”

“This note that you just gave me has baby names and a gynecologist appointment on it and not the Santos order.”

“Pregnancy brain is a real thing,” she huffs before slapping his head again and walking out of the room.

“Congratulations,” he shouts, leaning forward in his chair and smiling to himself. It’s a day of loss, but not everything is bad. It’s also a day of life.

He does spend the night drowning himself in a glass of rum, but it’s just the one filled a little too close to the brim. And he doesn’t spend entirely too much time thinking about Milah and all of the women and heartbreak that have come before her. He only spends what he would consider an acceptable amount of time, and if it was most of the night, no one has to know that but him.

Those are the perks of living alone.

Well, that and eating food in nothing but his boxers while watching reruns of whatever the hell he wants.

The Office.

It was The Office. He spends far too much time watching The Office and also…in his office. But that’s something else. That’s work, and it’s not filled with quite the same amount of comedy. Though he is thinking about putting Liam’s stapler in some jello. That’s not as funny in real life, but he’s not exactly sure if he’s desperate enough to wrap up Liam’s entire office in wrapping paper.

It’d have to be some birthday paper or something. It’s April, so Christmas paper likely wouldn’t work. Of course, it’s April, so Christmas paper would likely be on sale. This is sounding better and better, but he’s not going to do it. He’s going to keep on going with his life and make sure that Ariel isn’t setting him up on a date at this dinner party he’s been at for thirty minutes like he’s pretty sure she’s doing with her friend Jane.

Amazingly enough, the existence of soulmates does not keep people from setting him up on blind dates.

You’d think there would be at least one perk.

Besides the whole perfect match thing and all.

That’s supposedly a perk.

“Would you excuse me for just one minute, love?” he asks Jane, flashing her his most sincere smile and squeezing her shoulder before walking toward his brother who is talking to Will and Robin in the corner of the backyard.

“BJ,” Will greets, grinning from ear to ear as Killian shakes his head.

“You cannot call me that, Scarlett,” he groans. His protests don’t matter at all, but he can hope. He can hope that one day one of his friends will listen to him.

It’s a pipe dream.

“Well, baby Jones isn’t quite as funny as BJ.”

“You have the humor of a fifteen-year-old lad.”

“At least I’m not boring like you,” he scoffs before he takes another sip of his beer. “How’s your little date going over there?”

“So you can tell that it’s a set up?”

“Little brother,” Liam sighs, clapping his hand down on his shoulder, “you scratched your ear enough times for us to know you were nervous. Plus Ariel told us. She was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement.”

“Younger. I’m younger, and of course she did. Jane is…she’s a nice woman, but I’m not really in the mood for another date.”

Suddenly his head starts pounding, sounds muting for a moment before he hones in on a laugh, a laugh that has his skin heating and gooseflesh rising over his arms as he only focuses in on it before all of the other sounds come back to him, the laugh fading into the background. He doesn’t know what the hell just happened, but he’s not going to focus on it when he’s got to deal with his brother and his best mates being undeniable assholes.

Tuning things out has always kind of been his thing anyways.

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” Robin helpfully supplies, “but I think the lass likes you, so I’d turn her down easy.”

“There’s nothing to turn down.”

“She might not know that.”

“Anyways,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, “how long do you think A is going to drag this along until we get to eat dinner?”

“I’d say until she finishes talking to her friends over there.” Liam points to a group of women standing on the other side of the deck. He recognizes Ariel and her friend Mary Margaret. He’s been to her house and met her husband. David? He thinks his name is David and that he’s a detective. And obviously he recognizes his sister-in-law, but he doesn’t recognize two of them. One of them is tall, her legs stretching on for miles, and she’s got straight brunette hair that falls down her back with the tips of it covered in red. The other woman is shorter, but not necessarily short, and her blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail so that he can see the openness of her dress as it dips down her bare back and rests just above the curve of her waist. He doesn’t know her at all, and he wonders how. Ariel may simply work with him, but she’s made him such a part of her personal life that he feels like he knows all of her friends.

Then again, he didn’t know Jane, so obviously she has several friends she wants to announce her pregnancy to that he’s never met. They’re all ships passing in the night.

Of course, it’s not quite night yet and they’re definitely not ships, but his point still stands.

Or sails.

He can design a ship that would work for this purpose.

He has too much time on his hands.

All of the sounds mute again before the same laugh as before comes back, but this time he knows exactly where the sound is coming from. It’s coming from the blonde who’s talking to Ariel, and he can feel his skin heating up again, the flesh pricking and hair rising across his body as a shiver runs through him. He knows this feeling. He knows it well. It’s the start of something that he usually finds pleasant, but it’s not something that he finds pleasant while standing in a public place with all of his friends around.

Will may have the humor of a teenager, but apparently Killian has the uncontrollable sex drive of one.

Shit.

This is not good.

He needs to think of the government or his grandmother or people who think Hawaiian shirts can be worn to the office as casual wear when they live in Maine because his jeans are rather tight and he’s afraid that nothing can be hidden when he’s feeling a little excited.

Or a lot excited.

When he should not be excited at all.

Oh hell. He’s aroused. He’s not excited. He’s aroused, and there is absolutely no reason for it. Does he even need a reason? Probably not. Still though. This is a problem he doesn’t really want to have right now at his assistant’s barbecue to announce that she’s created a spawn of her loins.

Those are the only loins he should be thinking about.

Not Ariel’s loins, though. That is…this is all too much for him.

“Hey, lover boy,” Will whistles, and suddenly the laughter is fading away so that he can focus on the sound of Will’s whistle and the wind that’s causing the leaves on trees to rustle and mix in with all of the conversations that are happening, “you’ve got to stop staring at Emma or she will kick your ass all the way back to England.”

Emma.

“Who is that?” he ponders, reaching to scratch his beard. He should have shaved this morning, but he didn’t have time to clean his scruff up. “Emma? You said her name was Emma?”

“Aye,” Will confirms, his fingers tapping along the glass of his bottle and picking up the condensation. “Emma Swan. She lives with Belle. I’m bloody terrified of her sometimes, but she’s fun.”

“Why are you terrified of her?”

“Because she’s a cop. A detective, I think, and I’ve seen first hand just how good she is at kickboxing.”

“Why? Did you beat your ass for saying something dumb?”

Will rolls his eyes as both Robin and Liam chuckle, even if they try to muffle the sound. “I may have said something a bit unsavory one night, and she may have literally kicked my ass for it. But I’m on the straight and narrow path now.”

“Huh. So she did what we’ve all been wanting to do for years now. I like her.”

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Liam prods, wrapping his arm around Killian’s shoulder and slapping him harder than he should. “Are you scared to talk to another girl? Is this going to be like teenage Killian who can’t flirt with more than one woman in a day without being terrified of having to do it again?”

“Sod off.”

“I’m telling you,” Liam starts, but Killian moves out from under his arm and walks away from the group of them so that he can go inside and get a glass of water, not really interested in hearing Liam teasing him about his childhood. It doesn’t bother him, but he’s heard it all before and doesn’t really need to hear about it again. It’s still been A Week, and there’s only so much teasing about his relationships that he can take when he’s still mourning the loss of one.

Once he gets into the kitchen, he grabs a cup off the counter and fills it with ice and water from the fridge, the sound of the ice machine drowning everything out so that he doesn’t hear someone come in behind him. He doesn’t hear her, so he’s got no idea that she’s within a foot of him when he turns around and hits her shoulder, the cup of ice cold water in his hand spilling all over the front of her dress.

Of Emma’s dress.

Of Emma’s white dress.

Because it’s the woman who he was just admiring who he spilled a drink on.

“Holy shirt-balls that’s cold.”

He wants to laugh at her words, at her The Good Place reference, but then it’s happening again. His skin is heating, his temperature rising by several noticeable degrees, and he can feel the hair on his body begin to rise while his jeans tighten. How are his jeans still tightening? His erection can’t get any worse.

Holy shirt-balls indeed.

What the hell is happening to him?

“I’m sorry, love,” he stutters, trying to focus his hearing so that everything won’t be so heightened, but then his eyes glance down at the way that the material of her dress is clinging to her skin, the edges molding to her breasts, and everything gets worse. So, so much worse. He loves women. He’s never denied that. But hell, he should not be having this kind of reaction. This is not some kind of bad porn movie.

This is not some kind of raunchy romantic comedy either.

This is his life.

She’s got fantastic breasts.

Nope. Nope. Nope. He can’t be thinking that. He shouldn’t be thinking that. Something is happening to him, and he needs it to stop.

“I mean, I would say it’s not your fault, but you did spill the water on me,” she laughs, grabbing onto her dress and squeezing the water out a bit as she makes her way further into the kitchen to grab a towel and wipe herself down.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Again. You’re Emma, right?”

She’s still dabbing at her dress when she looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. Her cheeks are flushed red, and he’s not sure if it’s from spending the evening outside or from the embarrassment of him spilling water on her. But she’s got these beautifully flushed cheeks and light emerald eyes that can’t seem to focus on him, her gaze constantly changing.

With how uncomfortable his jeans are right now, he’s honestly kind of wishing that he had ice water dumped on him.

Seriously. What the hell is happening to him?

“Um, yeah. How do you know that?”

“Will told me. I’m…we’re old friends. Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she sighs, continuing to dab at her dress while he looks away. He has to look away or he’s going to do something inappropriate by anyone’s standards. Something is happening to him, to his mind and his body, and he needs it to stop right now. “You know, if you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was introduce yourself, no spilled water involved. And if you wanted to see my tits, well, I should warn you that I carry around a gun for a living, and I don’t take too kindly to things like that.”

“I can promise you that wasn’t my intention.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at me right now?”

“Swan, if I’m honest, it’s because I can see both through and down your dress, and it’s not proper to look no matter how much I want to.”

Holy shit. Why did he just say that?

“Is it hot in here?” Emma asks, changing the subject, and he has never been more thankful for anything in his entire life. Though, really, if she could stop talking, he would be thankful for that too. Her voice is focused in his ears, every word reverberating and spinning around so that he can focus on nothing but her. It’s like her laughter earlier. His body instinctively tuned into it, focused on it, and it caused this same feeling of arousal to base itself at his spine.

And every word she says, makes it worse.

Fuck.

He somehow knows what’s happening, his brain instantly making the connections, and if he could walk out the front door and have never come to this party, he probably would.

Emma Swan is mostly likely his soulmate if the way his senses are picking up are any indication, and every word she says gives him the most inappropriate erection.

Her voice arouses him, and it’s not in a normal way.

Of all the soulmate signs, why this?

Couldn’t he have gotten a damn butterfly tattoo right above his ass instead?   



	2. Chapter Two

Emma groans the moment that she’s in Ariel’s bathroom, slamming the door behind her and resting her head on the wooden frame while she tries to regulate her breathing and her heartbeat. It’s too hot, everything on her burning alive despite the chill that’s still dripping off of her dress from the water that was spilled on her, and she can feel the sweat that’s pooling at her temples. She doesn’t need to look in the mirror. She can _feel_ it.

It's disgusting.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mumbles, fumbling for the knob and locking the door behind her. She’s incredibly tempted to relieve the ache between her thighs in the half bathroom that’s full of white frills and nautically themed décor (which seems too on par for this family), but it’s wrong on so many levels and she can’t.

She just can’t.

She also can’t explain why she feels this way. She can feel her blood running hotly through her veins, feel the pulse of her heart in her ears, and every inch of her skin is covered in gooseflesh. She’s more aroused than she has been in a long time, but she hasn’t been doing anything to cause that. Seriously. She’s a woman, and she doesn’t get this turned on by nothing. People go on and on about how women can have multiple orgasms but the work to get there isn’t exactly a walk in the park even if it is fun most of the time. And she’s definitely not been…walking in any parks today.

She’s at a spring cookout where she’s done nothing but talk to her friends and a few people she’s met a few times and –

Killian Jones.

Killian Jones who spilled a glass of ice water down her white dress and then absolutely refused to look at her afterward. Mostly. He was a bumbling idiot who apparently had a sense of propriety and chivalry, and she appreciates it. She appreciates it, but the man was hot with his blue eyes and defined scruff covered jaw and something weird has been happening to her ever since he started talking and a part of her wouldn’t have minded him looking at her while he did it. His voice echoes in her ears, and she knows that it’s not because his accent is deep and soothing, flowing off of his tongue easily. It’s because her ears focused on it without her permission, and she couldn’t get the deafening sound to drown out so that she could return to normal.

It’s always been the most annoying thing, her weird heightened hearing, but it’s never been quite like that. It’s never been where she can’t make everything go back to normal, where she can’t focus on anything but the tick of his jaw or the way that his tongue moves over his bottom lip. She knows that she is attracted to him, attracted to the fit build under nice clothes and to the blue eyes that contrast with the black hair, but she does not fawn over men after one meeting.

Especially a particularly bad first meeting.

If she’s in a bar and has had a few drinks, maybe. But not in Ariel’s kitchen. That’s not exactly a great place to pick up a guy for a one night stand.

Something is happening to her, and while she has an inkling most likely brought on by stories she’s heard for her twenty-seven years of life, she refuses to think about it, to accept it. That’s too much for her, like it always has been, and she refuses to let it get to her. She refuses to let Killian Jones get to her, so she focuses on regulating her breathing and calming herself down, focusing everything on the steady beat that her heart is returning to until all she can hear is the thrum, the familiar sound soothing her.

Whatever the hell was just happening to her is not going to happen anymore. She won’t let it. She moves from the door and to the sink, turning the water on and splashing her face even if it’ll mess her makeup up a bit. She needs to calm her skin down, to calm herself down, so she spends a few minutes straightening herself up, taking her hair down and running her hands through it before she starts braiding it so that it falls over her shoulder. She’s going to need to borrow a sweater from Ariel, maybe even a full dress, if she doesn’t want to give everyone a show, so after making sure that Killian is not around, she moves out of the bathroom and quickly heads down the hall and into Ariel’s bedroom, opening the door and –

“Nope, no, uh uh,” she chants, closing the door behind her and closing her eyes, only opening them because the darkness makes her replay what she just saw.

This day could not possibly get any weirder.

Or it could. She’s still got to work the night shift, and weird things happen after midnight.

Weird things happen at seven in the evening at a barbecue as well.

Weird things like Killian Jones relieving himself of the erection he was sporting earlier. She’s never going to be able to talk to him again. Or Will. He’s friends with Will, and she might have to never speak to him again – which means she’s going to have to move out of her apartment because of Belle. Of course, if she stays friends with Elsa she’ll occasionally be around Liam, and Killian is Liam’s brother, right?

She can’t escape him.

It’s like six degrees to Kevin Bacon.

Or one degree to Killian Jones.

At least one of them involves bacon.

Though the other could involve…sausage. No. Nope. She’s not going there either. That was a bad joke even in her head.

The door opens behind her, and she practically falls to the ground until she catches herself, using the muscles in her legs to keep her upright – or the hands that are under her armpits that are holding her up. One of those hands was just…

She would pay an indecent amount of money to not be here right now.

Maybe her salary for the next three months. That would probably get her out of here somehow.

“Are you okay, lass?”

Pleasure shoots through her skin again, all of the heat coming back, and she wonders if she can become hot enough to melt.

That would honestly be preferable to all of this.

And she wouldn’t lose all of that money.

“You have got to stop talking.”

“Bloody hell,” he groans, the strain in his voice one that she’s heard before, “you do too.”

Shit. That means that it’s happening to him too, which might mean – no. She’s not going there again. She needs to go anywhere but there. And maybe here. She needs to be away from here.

Where’s the melting thing going to come in? She’s been called a witch plenty of times. Now would be a time where she’d actually like to be one.

Not that she thinks witches exist. They might. She has no idea. She fully believes that Hogwarts doesn’t exist, but then again, if this damn soulmate thing exists, why can’t witches and wizards and ogres?

Maybe Shrek is based off of a true story too.

_Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me._

“So is it – ”

“Yep,” he curtly admits, lifting her up until she’s solidly on her feet. She doesn’t want to, but she has to, so she turns to look at him.

His face is just as red as hers is, sweat collecting at his forehead again and making some strands of his hair fall down across his forehead, and she’s not sure if it’s because he was just masturbating or because this weird arousal thing is happening to him too. To be fair, he was probably relieving himself because of whatever is happening…if it’s happening.

It’s definitely happening.

Her life has never been fair, but this seems really damn cruel.  

“So do we…does it happen whenever I say anything? Like, anything at all?”

His jaw ticks, the defined line moving while he very obviously clenches his teeth, and his knuckles go white. She’s not sure if that’s attractive or if her body is still all out of whack. “Aye. What about you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Now, love, I know that I’m not every woman’s cup of tea, but I would think being outrageously attracted to me wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip again before his lips curl up into a wicked smile while his brows move across his forehead. It’s unfairly attractive, especially with the way the chains on his neck fall against his visible chest hair, but she’s not going to let this happen. She’s not going to succumb to the universe’s sick way of messing with her, of predetermining her life.

And that’s the crux of the issue. She knows what this is. She somehow knows who’s standing in front of her, and she hates it. She doesn’t want this even if her body is telling her that she wants him. She doesn’t want him because the universe is playing some cruel trick on her. It sucks. There’s no other way for her to be more eloquent about it.

Having. A. Soulmate. Sucks.

It sucks, and if she could go live in some alternate universe where there wasn’t one person predestined for her, she’d do it in a heartbeat. She’d do it even if it meant changing her job or her hair or the country she was born in. She wants autonomy in her own life. She wants the ability to be able to live her life without constantly knowing that she’s in the wrong.

She wants someone to love her for her and not because someone told them to.

 She wants.

And why is it that there are only soulmates in a romantic sort of way? Yeah, she gets that your husband or wife or partner or whatever can be your best friend. She really does understand that. She thinks it’s the way it should be. But if the universe is going to predetermine who you’re destined to be with, can’t whatever all-knowing creature that’s out there also do that with friends? With family? With careers?

With parents?

If she has someone out there, someone who may be Kil…if she has someone out there who is her perfect match, why couldn’t she have had parents who wanted her? Who kept her? Maybe they hadn’t been soulmates, and they’d been ashamed of their child who wasn’t born of true love or whatever crap that is. The thought still sends a shiver down her spine. What kind of shitty people give up a child with no explanation, with no name?

She didn’t even have a last name. One was chosen for her.

Swan.

But still, it’s not like they live in some kind of dystopian universe where having a child with someone other than your soulmate means that you’ll be punished to death. So what? Were her parents irresponsible teenagers? Adults with no money? People who just didn’t want a kid?

She doesn’t know. She’s tried to find out, tried to discover information from the article about the little girl who was left on the side of a road in Maine, but she’s never had any luck.

She may never know.

So how can the universe give her a soulmate but not give her parents?

It’s messed up.

And she hates it.

And she hates that she’s felt love, love that she thought was real and genuine and true, only to be left and betrayed and heartbroken in the darkest way. She hates that even after that hurt, she tried again, only to have him leave her for his actual soulmate. She hates that she gave love another chance, that she let her heart fill with hope, only for him to be a liar and a cheater, someone so similar to her first love that it was more jarring than anything she’d experienced in years.

Neal. Graham. Walsh.

Three strikes. You’re out.

She’s out.

She’s out and she’s scarred, metaphorical marks etching across her pale skin, some more red than others, some more jagged. Nevertheless, they’ve all changed her in a way, taken skin that was once unmarked and scarred it.

But then again, her parents likely did the same thing to her. Her skin has never been unmarked.

Except for a soulmate mark. She doesn’t have a tattoo, a birthmark, an oddly colored finger. She’s had nothing.

Until right now.

But she doesn’t want this. She doesn’t. If this is real and happening, she wants to change it. She’s no stranger to using her body as a way to show affection, as a way to get what she wants out of a man, but she still finds something fundamentally wrong about the fact that she and Kil…nope, she can’t even think it. She can’t think that the universe is literally asking her to fuck like bunnies to get to know this man who she might possibly be with forever. What are they supposed to do? Never talk?

She’s more than her body.

So much more.

And she refuses to accept this.

“Look,” she sighs, placing her hands on her hips and straightening her posture, gritting her teeth as she talks. Every word isn’t bad, but she feels like the longer they talk, the worse this thing gets. “I think we both have a vague idea of what’s happening, but I don’t really have any interest in it. Or in you.”

The smirk that was gracing his face disappears, his lips pressing together in a firm line while his hands dig into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels, nodding his head up and down. “I understand.”

“I don’t – ” she starts, realizing how rude she’s being. That’s not what she wants. She knows that she can be prickly, but this isn’t…he doesn’t deserve her rudeness when he seems to be a charming, nice guy. “I don’t mean to be rude. Truly. But I don’t want you to think that you have to, like, get to know me because of whatever is happening.”

The flat press of his lips form into a smile, even if it’s a small one that doesn’t reach his eyes, and she feels some of the guilt alleviate from her shoulders. It’s taking everything in her not to cross her legs to relieve the ache, not to let whatever is happening affect her. It’s not like she’s never experienced similar situations, but this is ridiculous.

At least she’s not a man.

That would be hard.

Literally.

Her eyes glance down to Killian’s crotch before looking back in his eyes. She’s already seen too much today. She doesn’t need more.

There’s definitely...more.

“No, I understand,” Killian nods. “I’m not particularly a fan of this for a hell of a lot of reasons, and for all that we know whatever is happening between us – ” He uncrosses his arms to motion between the two of them, the strain of having to listen to her talk obvious in his voice. “ – is something else entirely than what we think it is. As pleasurable as I’m sure it’d be, I’m not going to try to take advantage of you like that.”

“I promise you, Jones, I would be the one taking advantage of you.” He laughs at that, and she feels the right corner of her lips tick up into a smile. Barely. It’s like a smize or something. That’s what Tyra Banks calls them right? Hers might not be a smize. That seems more like what Killian does. Or his might be a smolder. She doesn’t know. It doesn’t even matter.

Smirk.

He smirks.

“Do you want to get back out to the party, love?” he asks. “And no offense to you, but I think we might want to steer clear of each other.”

“I like the way you think. I just need to um, borrow a dress from Ariel because this one isn’t going to dry.”

His eyes flicker down to her chest before they quickly move back up. “Right then. It was nice meeting you, Swan.”

“Nice meeting you too.” He takes a step away, but then she remembers something. “Don’t – please don’t tell anyone about this. We have a hell of a lot of mutual friends, and if they get one sniff of this – ”

“They’ll force us together until we are together.”

“Exactly. I love them, but they’re all ridiculously in love and feel like everyone else has to be too.”

“I get that. So it’ll be our little secret then?”

“Our little secret.”

“Good.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear as he takes a few steps away, and she notices the scars on his left hand. “I’m sorry about earlier, about the…compromising position you saw me in.”

She waves him away, not wanting to talk about it. It’s a weird situation for them both. There’s no great way for her to say “Don’t worry about masturbating in front of me.” Of course, she could just say it. But she’d rather not.

“Please, it’s nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He raises a brow, and she focuses on it instead of the ever-growing ache at her core and the way her blood is coursing through her veins. This is getting painful. “I’m not entirely sure that’s true, lass.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Perhaps I would.”

She opens her mouth to say something else, to tell him that she’s ready to haul him into the bathroom and have her way with him against the doorframe even if that’s painful. Hot but painful.

Kind of like whatever is going on between the two of them.

But she can’t say anything like that. She can’t tease him. They’re not doing this even if they both want to jump each other’s bones.

“You should get back to the party.”

It’s a dismissal, and she hopes he knows it. If anything, he should be relieved to get away from her. She cannot imagine just how painful this must be for him. So when Killian nods his head, no words slipping past his lips, and walks down the hallway, she’s relieved.

In more ways than one.

And definitely not in the sexual way.

She doesn’t want that anyways. Not really.

Her entire body is practically on fire, but she focuses on the sound of the air conditioning, letting everything else drown out all the while she heads into Ariel’s bedroom and shifts through her closet to find another dress after scratching the top of Max’s head as he hides away from all of the people. She quickly pulls out a green maxi dress, and pulls it on after stripping out of her wet dress. She’s going to have to remember to come back and get it later.

And she doesn’t mean to snoop, not really, but she most definitely does not miss the stacks of baby clothes piled up in the corner. Either Eric and Ariel are into some weird things or Ariel’s having a baby.

She hasn’t been drinking, is wearing loose clothing, and they have people over. She’s definitely pregnant.

There are going to be so many baby showers, which is honestly a pretty misleading way to phrase that.

Personally, she thinks the mom should get some gifts for herself too. She’s doing all of that hard work and deserves a subscription to some chocolate or something.

When she leaves the bedroom, Killian is nowhere to be seen. She’s relieved by this, even if she knows that he’s going to be outside with all of the guests. Hopefully she can avoid him, though. He seems to be okay with that, to agree with her on the ridiculousness of it all, and she appreciates that. Maybe he has the same view on soulmates as her. Maybe he doesn’t want this just as much as her.

Maybe just maybe.

Maybe she’s also a little curious as to what makes Killian Jones her so-called perfect match.

“Why are you wearing my dress?” Ariel asks her the moment she gets back out onto the deck. She loves Ariel to death, but the woman has no sense of personal space. Then again, Emma did invade her room and steal some of her clothes. “Oh, you know what, it doesn’t even matter.” Ariel grabs her hand and drags her to the center of the deck where Eric is standing holding a glass of water. “Eric and I have a big announcement, and you can stand right next to me as we share it.”

“I feel like that’ll make it look like the three of us have a big announcement, and as much as I love you guys, that’s not really my thing.”

“Ruby would approve of what you just said, and Mary Margaret would literally burrow herself into the ground.”

“True,” she laughs, squeezing Ariel’s hand to try to ground herself as she realizes that there are about thirty people staring at her. Or maybe not her. Around her.

At Ariel and Eric.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Eric shouts, garnering everyone’s full attention while the roar of conversations dims to a subtle clamoring of sounds. She quickly looks out at the group of people, at the ones she recognizes and the ones she doesn’t, and her eyes fall on Killian. He’s sitting down at a table, his legs nowhere in sight, and even though the only other people at the table are Ariel’s parents, he doesn’t seem to want to get up. Smart man. Wouldn’t want to scar everyone. “Ariel and I love having you here all the time, but we’re particularly excited because today we’re announcing that we’re having a baby.”

The roar picks back up again, a mixture of cheers and clapped hands, a few gasps that she knows all come from Mary Margaret’s mouth, but even over all of it, she can hear a British accent quietly whispering “congratulations” to Ariel’s parents. Even with the distance, with the noise, her ears can only focus on that. And her skin prickles again, bumps rising on her arms while her cheeks flush.

And it’s at this moment, with this reaction hearing his voice even over all of this noise, that she realizes that she can’t do this. She can’t be around Killian Jones. She can’t be around someone who is going to impact her this way. He may be a nice guy, someone who she knows is witty and successful from the stories she’s heard, but she has absolutely no interest in being tempted by the universe into sleeping with him and then, like she knows will happen if she’s around him because of how the world works, falling in love with him.

Screw soulmates.

She doesn’t want to screw hers.


	3. Chapter Three

“I’m going to kill you for dragging me out here.”

“No you’re not.”

“Asshole.”

“Wanker.”

“Bastard.”

“You’re my brother, so if I’m a bastard, so are you!”

Killian stops running, his feet halting in their tracks, as his breath fully escapes him. They’ve been out here for over an hour, and his legs are burning. Hell, his entire body is burning, every inch of him slick with sweat that is doing nothing to put out the flames. He can practically feel his heart beating between his ears, and he knows that he shouldn’t hastily stop his running, that he should walk it out, but he can’t physically run anymore.

As much as he likes having their workouts done before work, sometimes six in the morning is too early when they don’t even have to be in the office until ten. 

Scratch that. All of the time. Six is too early all of the time, and he’s an early riser most days. Unlike Liam, he’s never quite gotten out of a lot of the routines he became accustomed to in the Navy, but he likes to spend that time drinking his coffee or tea and eating breakfast, possibly catching up on some television or on what’s going on the world that he might need to know about. That’s not always the most pleasant thing, but it’s a necessary thing. 

“I can’t believe,” he huffs, stretching his arms over his head to try to catch his breath and relieve some of the tension that’s pulling at all of his muscles while a pleasant breeze blows up from the beach, “that you basically just gave me a version of ‘I know you are but what am I.’”

“I probably got it from Luis and Luca. They’ve really been into fighting with each other lately.”

He looks over to his brother, eyes flickering down to his feet which are still moving despite the fact that they’ve stopped their run. The man is still getting exercise in when he knows that they’ve far surpassed their ten thousand steps...not that he tracks them. He had a fitbit at one point in time, but he may have accidentally dropped it into the ocean one day when he was inspecting one of their boats. He’d been messing with his wrist because his scars were agitated and burning like the dickens, and the damn thing came unclasped. 

But really, there is no need for Liam to be still jogging in place. He knows that the man is five years older and that his metabolism might not be as great as Killian’s is right now, but damn. All he wants is to take a nice cold shower, eat some more food, and then maybe watch some television before he goes into work. He’s behind on The Rookie, and he really wants to catch up so that Ariel doesn’t ruin it for him. Whenever they watch the same shows, she always ruins them if he gets behind. And if she doesn’t, it’ll be Will. The only person he can count on to not spoil things is Robin, and that’s only because he doesn’t have time to watch anything that’s rated over G with a six year old at home. Technically Liam could also fall into that category, but Liam so rarely watches television unless Elsa makes him. 

Elsa watches a hell of a lot of shows that are entirely in Norwegian so that Luca and Luis are bilingual. Liam is still working on his Norwegian, though. It’s funny, when Liam and Elsa could hear each other’s thoughts, things were always spoken in their native tongues. 

It was like Google translate, free of charge and of bad mistranslations. 

Imagine their surprise when they met and Liam didn’t speak Norwegian. Elsa speaks fluent English, though. Obviously she’s far superior to Liam. 

He’d get his ass kicked if he ever spoke those words out loud. 

It might be worth it. It’s most definitely true. 

“Traffic is going to get bad if we stay out here too much longer,” he points out, his skin cooling down while his heart starts beating steadily again, normalcy returning to his body.

“We live in Storybrooke. There is no backed up traffic. Let’s do one more mile, and then I promise we’ll be finished. And good news for you, we’re not running tomorrow.”

He takes a deep breath, puffing his chest up, before he takes off, yelling to Liam that whoever gets to the library last has to buy lunch. 

(He ends up buying lunch.)

(He’s going to have to start training alone so that he can beat Liam’s ass.)

(Who cares about fitness when being better than your brother is at stake?)

His next few weeks at work are a bit insane. It always is in the spring. On their website they recommend ordering customizations, especially full customizations or total redesigns, in the winter, preferably in the fall, but without fail, everyone seems to put in their orders in the late spring. It’s something about the sunshine being more prevalent, temperatures warming up, and everyone simply gets that itch to be outside, specifically to be on the water. He can’t blame his clients. He feels exactly the same way. 

There’s likely no one who enjoys spending time outside, spending time out on the water, more than him, so he gets where everyone is coming from. 

It honestly makes his life a little bit of a living hell. 

It’s funny because hell is only supposed to be for the dead, and he’s only dead inside. 

(Not really.)

Maybe his sense of humor is a little twisted.

Being busy is a good thing. It keeps his hands and mind occupied, and that’s something that he desperately needs right now. He needs something to think about other than his personal life. His friends and his family are great like they’ve always been, but they all have lives of their own that are separate from him. He spends his days at work, evenings as a mixture of personal times and spending time with all of his loved ones, but ever since Ariel’s pregnancy announcement dinner, his mind has been absolutely muddled with thoughts of...everything. He’d say his mind is muddled with thoughts of Emma Swan, but that would only be half the truth. After all, he’s only met her once, and he barely knows anything about her. 

Scratch that. 

There’s a pretty high probability (and he knows this even if his mathematics may be a little off and out of practice) that she’s his soulmate. 

That is absolutely the most insane thing in the world. He doesn’t want a soulmate, not really. A part of him does, but for years now all he’s felt is despair. He doesn’t want to be forced to love someone. And yet only days after the anniversary of Milah leaving him, he might have met the woman who is supposedly the love of his life. 

But what if he’d already met his?

What if he can’t love again after Milah? What if the universe is telling him to move on in a very big way and he’s not ready? What is he supposed to do with that? 

It doesn’t even matter. Emma had been kind and witty, bloody well one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen, but she’d very clearly not been interested in him. Obviously she was sexually, if only because they apparently literally cannot help themselves (She’s obviously stronger with her restraint than he is.), but she made it clear as day that nothing was going to become of them. He doesn’t know her, doesn’t know her background outside of what he’s picked up from friends, but she seemed just as averse to soulmates as he was. 

Maybe they are kindred spirits. 

Obviously they are. 

But maybe in a different way. 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, really. 

He’s freaking Jon Snow. 

(Is it still funny to make that joke now that the show is over?)

(It doesn’t matter. He’s still going to make that joke.)

It’s all a confusing mess. He’s met the woman he’s supposed to be with. He’s met his soulmate like all of his friends and family have, but he imagines that not a single one of them had an aversion to their loves to the point of them meeting and then never speaking again despite having access to each other. It’d be a bit of a roundabout way, but he could still talk to her if he really wanted to. All he’d have to do is go to the police station, frequent Granny’s Diner since that’s where Ariel and Emma eat lunch together, or literally ask any one of his friends for her number. 

But Emma’s not interested. 

Besides, when they met, he spilled water down her dress, making it see through, and then they’d made each other aroused to the point that she caught him wanking one off. It was not one of his finer moments, so it might be for the best that they don’t see each other for awhile. Or forever. It’s not like they can talk to each other in public anyhow. Emma may be able to hide how it affects her, but he cannot no matter how many unpleasant thoughts he thinks. 

Seriously. He’s come up with a lot of boner killers over the years, and none of them work. 

The universe is fucking with them because it wants them to fuck. 

_ Will: Belle wants to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. Can you make it? _

He looks down at his phone, at the message that just popped up. Belle is always inviting him over for dinner. She’s an absolute sweetheart, but he honestly thinks she must assume he doesn’t eat or that he’s lonely. He does eat, and he isn’t lonely. But Belle and Will are both brilliant cooks, most likely because Belle spends her days in a library that has a section full of cook books and Will is always experimenting with food at the Rabbit Hole. So he’s definitely not going to complain. 

_ Killian: Sure! What time? _

__

_ Will: Six. We’ve got to do it before I go to work.  _

__

_ Killian: Okay, I’ll make sure to leave the office early.  _

He’s just put his phone back on his desk when it buzzes again, Will’s message popping up on the screen. 

__

_ Will: At Belle’s apartment, not mine.  _

Cue the Tag Team because Whoomp (there it is).

He’s being set up on a double date with Emma, and he’s already agreed to go. He already knows that’s what happened because never once have they gone to Belle’s apartment instead of Will’s. Not once. 

Sneaky bastards. 

Starting tomorrow he’s designing himself a boat...no, he’s designing himself a ship that he can live in for the rest of his days, because he needs to leave Storybrooke in order to avoid Emma Swan. 

He’s not even sure if he wants to. All he knows is that he can’t possibly be in public with her.

This entire dinner is going to be spent with him sitting at the table dying a little inside with every word, isn’t it? 

No one told him life was going to be this way.

(He’s got to stop quoting songs.)

Maybe she won’t be there. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Will’s apartment has a gas leak or something and that’s why the dinner is at Belle’s. 

* * *

He hears Emma talking from outside the apartment door before he gets to the end of the hallway where their apartment is. His thing with sounds, his unfortunate ability to be able to hear absolutely everything unless he’s actively focusing on not hearing it or distracted by something else, is somehow heightened when Emma talks or laughs or even, he assumes, when she sneezes. He has a visceral reaction to it, his entire body heating and tensing, and he hasn’t figured out how to control it, how to make it stop. 

There’s about thirty seconds from now until he’s inside that apartment to figure it out. 

He doesn’t figure it out. 

“Hi,” Belle smiles the moment she opens the door, not even letting him gather his bearings or knock. Belle might very well be the most considerate person he knows, Mary Margaret aside, and she has no idea that she is helping in his demise. 

He’s not dramatic in the slightest. 

(He definitely is.)

“Hello, love,” he greets, leaning down to kiss her cheek and handing her the bottle of wine he’s brought with him. He prefers to bring homemade food, but he came straight from work and only had time to grab something from the grocery store down the street. “You look absolutely beautiful today.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you come in? I hope you don’t mind that Emma is here. You two have met, right?”

He’s about to answer Belle, to say that they have, even if he sees the cheeky smile on Belle’s face, when Emma turns around from her seat at the table and sees him. She’s in leggings and a sweatshirt, her feet only covered in comically mismatched socks, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail under a baseball cap. And if the way her lips keep parting before coming together again is any indication, she had no idea that he was coming. 

Surprise. 

She’s going to hate him. 

This was definitely some kind of set up. Never in doubt. 

“Hello, Swan,” he waves, awkwardly putting his hand in the air and moving his fingers. Her mouth snaps closed, lips pressing into a firm line, and he sees her eyes roll even under the shadow of her cap. She’s not happy that he’s here, and he doesn’t blame her. They’re in a bit of a complicated situation. 

Instead of speaking (thank goodness), Emma simply waves back with a flick of her wrist and the slightest nod of her head. He’s grateful for that, truly. This entire night is going to be torture, but she’s doing him a kindness there. It’s the little things in life. 

“Oi, why do you look like the cat has your tongue, mate?”

“Shut up, Scarlett.” 

“You know I’m incapable of that. Besides, milady likes the sound of my voice.”

“I don’t know what you see in him,” he sighs to Belle as he walks into the apartment and settles against the kitchen counter next to the table where Emma is alternating between shooting him daggers and completely avoiding his gaze. He should probably stop talking, but he’s not entirely sure how to do that when he’s having dinner. Conversation is kind of expected. 

They could all become mimes. 

The apartment is a small place, especially for two people, but Emma and Belle have it decorated in soft whites and creams with green and blue pillows and accents everywhere. As well as books. He shouldn’t be surprised at that, especially with Belle living here, but he wasn’t expecting them to have an entire wall of the things. It’s nice though, cozy even. He loves his apartment, but there’s a certain staleness to it sometimes. He doesn’t have much there, just his leather couch with one or two pillows and a painting of the horizon at the bay hanging over his television. He’s got bookshelves too, but it’s nothing like the packed space before him. He wonders if Emma is a bookworm as well. 

He hopes that she likes flowers for all of the ones that Belle’s father sends them from his shop. 

“He’s surprisingly kind when he’s not being an asshole.”

“So once or twice a year then?”

There’s a loud snicker, more of a snort really, and he whips his head to the right to see Emma covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking the slightest bit. Well, look at that. He made her laugh. It may be a good night already. 

“You find that funny, love?” he teases, not able to stop himself from talking when he knows that she must be losing her mind. Maybe he’s a bit sadistic, but it’s kind of fun watching her squirm and knowing that there’s nothing she can do to stop him. 

“You? Funny? I don’t believe it’s your allotted one time a year for that.”

The beginnings of arousal spark at the base of his spine, but it’s not enough to do anything. Thank fuck. 

“It’s not a funny joke when you have to steal it from me, love.”

“That’s cute that you thought it was a funny joke to begin with.”

“Aww, sweetheart,” Will sighs, leaning back in his chair so that it props up on two legs while he looks at Belle who is grabbing glasses out of the cabinet, “would you look at the two of them flirting?”

“We are not flirting,” he and Emma say at the same time while the real hum of arousal starts to spread across his skin. Sighing, he speaks again on his own. “Belle, would you like some help with dinner since your boyfriend is a wanker who isn’t helping you out?”

“You guys are such weird friends, but sure. That’d be great.”

He helps Belle butter slices of toast while she gets the lasagna out of the oven, the two of them easily moving in and out of the kitchen. His left hand being near heat can sting sometimes, so he tries to avoid it on days where he has pains. It’s been nearly a decade since the accident, and sometimes it’s like nothing has changed. He and Belle fill in casual conversation, catching up on how they’ve been while Belle recommends him some new books to come pick up from the library, and Will occasionally adds something in to make Belle laugh, her entire face lighting up. He sees Emma get up from the table and stalk off to what must be her room, and not a part of him blames her. It’s likely what’s best for the both of them, and he appreciates it. 

Until she comes back into the room right as they start to eat, silently fixing herself a plate and settling down across from him. He can’t help but watch her, be fascinated by her. For someone who he knows is intelligent and graceful, incredibly athletic if her legs and arms are anything to go by, she’s not very graceful as she eats. He can’t count the amount of times she’s gotten sauce on her chin and he’s had to motion to his own to get her to wipe it off. It’s funny, if he’s honest with himself, but he’s also pretty sure that each move he makes causes Emma to hate him that little bit more. 

Hate may be too strong of a word. She simply wants absolutely nothing to do with him. That’s all. 

And that’s totally not hate. 

Belle and Will are most definitely trying to set the two of them up, as every other sentence is some kind of not-so-gentle nudge for he and Emma to talk to each other. Emma is much better at avoiding everything, deftly nodding her head in answer or giving as curt of a response as possible. He’s not so adept at it, getting roped into saying a bit more than Emma does. He can’t help himself, even though he’s pretty sure that she’s going to murder him and then hide the evidence. She is a detective, after all. 

He’s taking a sip of his wine while Belle and Will are having some kind of argument over their upcoming vacation. It’s refreshing to see that even with the whole soulmate thing that people still have normal arguments and petty squabbles. It makes life seem more…real and not like he’s living in some kind of manufactured box. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Emma slide her phone across the table, the screen lit up with the messaging app open. He takes it, pulling it into his side so Belle and Will don’t see. It’s not like they’re paying attention anyways. They’re currently debating if they should go to England or to the beach in Florida. He’s not really sure how that’s a competition, but then again, sometimes people like sunshine. 

Sometimes people also like not burning up in the fiery pits of hell of Florida. 

_ If we leave right now, I bet they won’t even notice.  _

He chuckles at her words, looking up and curving his lips into a smile only to see her looking down intently focusing on what he assumes is a split end on her ponytail. Obviously he knows that she wanted him to see this message. She typed it and sent her phone over to him, but she’s acting like he doesn’t exist. It’s an odd disconnect, but he guesses this is how this is going to go. 

**Do you think we can take the bread with us?**

_ God no. Belle would snap our heads off. The bread isn’t even worth it.  _

__

**The bread is always worth it.**

That gets a laugh out of Emma, even if he almost missed her small snicker. But he can see the slightest tick of her lips, the smallest of smiles peeking out. 

Damn. It feels good to make her smile. 

He’s not supposed to be feeling that way. 

At least he’s not feeling aroused. That’s a damn good feeling and all, but it’s not something he really wants to deal with right now. It still may be the most idiotic soulmate (or maybe not soulmate and just some sick, twisted game the universe is playing with the two of them to screw them up even more) sign in the world, and while he’s still wondering just how long he’s going to have to suffer with it, it may not be the worst thing in the world. 

As long as he doesn’t speak to Emma. 

That seems pretty easy since they probably won’t be stuck eating another meal together. 

He’s not sure how he feels about that. 

“Killian,” Belle huffs, slapping her hands against the table just as he’s texting himself on Emma’s phone so that he has her number, something that contradicts every logical thought that he’s had all night (and something that will probably piss her off), “will you please tell Will that we don’t need to go to England when we can go somewhere nice and relaxing like the beach in Miami, which is definitely different than the beach here?”

“I – ”

“Florida sucks,” Emma starts, inching her glass into the middle of the table so that he can covertly slide her phone back to her. “It’s not only hot but also humid, and the people there are assholes.”

“Oh Emma,” Belle sighs, her eyes widening with what he thinks is compassion, “just because Neal is – ”

“It’s not about Neal,” Emma barks, cutting Belle off. If he wasn’t so interested in who Neal is and why he causes such a reaction from Emma, he’d probably notice the slight tingling sensation that’s working its way over himself. “Go to Spain or something. You get Europe and the beach. I’m going to bed.”

With that Emma gets up from the table and stalks over to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. He thought that things were going well tonight, especially with their little back and forth over the phone, but whatever just happened obviously made her change her mind. 

“Damn, Jones. What’d you do to make her so mad? I told you she could kick all of our asses.”

He holds his hands up and shakes his head from side to side. “I didn’t do a thing. She was fine.”

“Until I mentioned Neal,” Belle laments, her lips parting slightly before snapping shut. He so wants to ask who Neal is, the words on the tip of his tongue, but it’s none of his business. Emma might not be interested in him, despite her being kind of friendly to him tonight, but if she’s really his soulmate, he’d like to get to know her on his own. Betraying her trust doesn’t seem like the best way to start that. And if she isn’t his soulmate, he’d still like to get to know her. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why? You think Emma doesn’t enjoy talking about her bastard of an ex?”

An ex. 

He figured that, but it’s still…nice, he guesses, to have confirmation even if he doesn’t want to know more. 

“I just hate that she’s been hurt so badly,” Belle sighs, rising from the table and collecting plates. He stands with her, not about to let her take care of everything when she cooked. “I wish she could find her soulmate so that she could have that partnership, you know? Like us, Will.”

“You and I both bloody well know that Emma will shove her soulmate away whenever she finds him. She’s not about to fall for everything just because someone tells her to.”

Boy do they have no idea. 

He doesn’t stay there much longer, only helping to clean up and chat with Will and Belle a bit more, before he’s leaving Belle and Emma’s apartment and walking home thinking about all of the little bits that he learned about Emma tonight. She’s definitely got protective layers around her heart, something he can understand, but he can also see some of the cracks that let in her friendliness and her humor. Sure, the humor might be a defense mechanism, but it’s still humor. 

He rather likes her, he thinks. 

He’s not sure if it’s just as friends or some kind of crush, but he knows that he doesn’t seem to hate her. Really, he’d love to talk to her some more. If only the universe didn’t suck and they didn’t have this teeny tiny (in his case big if he does say so himself) problem that keeps them from doing that. 

Never in his life has he hated getting turned on this easily. 

(Except maybe in secondary school in the middle of a mathematics exam, but that’s an unfortunate story for another day.)

Walking into his apartment, he turns on the lights and kicks off his shoes, leaning down to put them in the right order on his little rack, before he sheds his jacket and hangs it on its hook. It’s eerily quiet in here compared to his dinner, so when he sits down on his couch and props his feet up on the ottoman, he immediately turns the television on, letting it stay on the History Channel for some background noise on the American Revolution. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he responds to Ariel’s text about her time off for a doctor’s appointment next week. He’s about to put it back in his pocket when he remembers Emma’s number in his phone. He could text her, but should he? She probably doesn’t want to hear from him, especially if she’s in a bad mood because Belle mentioned her ex, but it’s almost like he can’t help himself. 

Dammit. 

He’s thirty-five. He should not be having this much of an issue on deciding whether or not to text a woman he fancies. 

_ Killian: You know, I quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me. _

One, two, three minutes pass. He watches his screen for all of them. 

_ Emma: I could just block you, you know.  _

__

He snickers at that. Of course that’s where she goes first. 

__

_ Killian: I know. I also know where you live.  _

__

_ Emma: That’s stalkerish, dude.  _

__

_ Killian: Block my number and throw me in a jail cell, love. I’m ready for it.  _

__

_ Emma: Kinky. _

__

_ Killian: The name’s Killian.  _

__

_ Emma: Asshole.  _

__

_ Killian: I also answer to that.  _

She takes a few minutes to respond, the little dots popping up on his screen and disappearing over and over again. 

_ Emma: Good.  _


	4. Chapter Four

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath before pulling her finger to her lips, trying to sooth the paper cut. She’s literally broken her arm before. How does a paper cut hurt so much worse? That just doesn’t seem right or something. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

 

“For someone who works in an office, you swear like a sailor.”

 

She holds the middle finger of her free hand up to David while her legs begin to tap underneath her desk to try to make her focus on something else other than this pain. What did she do? Slice her entire finger open on a document about Leroy being drunk and disorderly at the Rabbit Hole last night?

 

They’ve got to switch to digital files.

 

And Leroy has to stop getting drunk and then serenading the people who live in the apartment building across from the Rabbit Hole at two in the morning.

 

And they really have to get another bar in this town, especially with how many tourists that they get in the summer months. Granny’s doesn’t count. She goes there more than anyone else, especially when she meets up with Ariel on their lunch breaks, but it is not a bar atmosphere even if she sells alcohol, most of which is stronger than the stuff at the Rabbit Hole. Granny knows how to pack a punch. Then again, Ruby has to get it from someone.

 

“Fuck off, David,” she bites, pulling her finger out of her mouth and looking at the miniscule damage that’s been caused there. How in the world does that cause this much pain? It’s probably extra because Leroy haunts the paper or something. She may have lost her mind. “This hurts.”

 

“Wash it and put a band-aid over it,” he shrugs, looking up at her over her coffee mug. Sometimes she hates that ever since Graham quit (apparently it was too hard to look at her face after they broke up even if he was the one off living with his soulmate) it’s only she and David in this department. Storybrooke is too small a town to need a lot of detectives, and even though most of the time she spends her time doing the work of a patrol officer, at least she gets paid like a detective.

 

There are perks.

 

And she loves David, but sometimes it’s too much to spend all day with him.

 

Today is one of those days.

 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

 

“Not a Captain quite yet.”

 

She rolls her eyes at his cheeky smile at the same time that she rolls her chair back and across the room to the area where they keep their coffee machine and their first aid kit, oddly enough. She’s pretty sure they also keep extra ink in this cabinet as well, but David is always the one who changes out the printer stuff anyways. If their printer doesn’t work, she always heads downstairs and uses the one in the bullpen.

 

It’s really not because she’s lazy. The printer is evil. Pure evil.

 

“We have got to switch to a digital filing system,” she tells David as she unpeels the band-aid and wraps it around her finger. “I know we don’t have the money for it, but we should do a fundraiser or something. I’m sure Mary Margaret would love to put on a bake sale.”

 

“How much money can a bake sale make?”

 

She shrugs her shoulders and twists her chair around before propping her feet up on Graham’s old desk, her boots banging against the wood. “I don’t know, but my other option was making a calendar with all of the hot male cops in it. Like, sixty percent of Storybrooke would buy that.”

 

David scoffs and pulls his head back, his face practically in his neck while his brows furrow together, all of those little old man wrinkles coming into play. He’s such an older brother type. If she’d ever had any family, she imagines he would be the type of sibling she’d want. She loves Mary Margaret, but she’d kill her if she had to spend all of her time listening to that never-ending optimism about every little aspect of life.

 

“Why only the male cops?”

 

“Because the equality here sucks, and I don’t think Ashley and I can fill up an entire calendar. Plus, you know, women have been objectified for thousands of years. You guys can have a turn. Also, it’s illegal for me to show my nipples in any kind of publication that’s not HBO. You can show yours even though our nipples look the same.”

 

“You’ve compared my nipples to yours then?”

 

“Gross,” she moans, tilting her head back in a laugh so that her hair falls over the back of her chair. It’s kind of hot in here, June really living up to its reputation, so while she’s still very unfortunately thinking about the similarity in her nipples (she’s thought the word nipples far too many times in two minutes) to David’s, she pulls her hair up into a ponytail, fluffing it out in the rubber band so that it’s no longer on her neck. “Let’s not have that conversation again. Like, ever.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

After messing around for a little while longer, she rolls back to her desk and goes back to her paperwork. She’s behind after missing half of work yesterday to go to the dentist, so she’s still got quite the dent to make in her stack. This town should not have this much paperwork, and she swears half of this stuff should be filed at city hall anyways. One day this town is going to make sense. She loves it, really. It’s the first place that’s ever felt like home for her, but it’s all kinds of weird.

 

Just as she’s made her way through half of her paperwork, there’s a knock on their open door, and she turns to see Ashley holding a large basket.

 

“Hey, Ems. This basket was dropped off for you at the front desk.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Ashley holds up a white card, the word “Swan” written across it in neat, scrawling script. If this were any other town, she’d be convinced that someone was trying to poison her or something, but this really only seems like some kind of creepy gift.

 

Not a murderous one.

 

“Well okay then,” she mumbles to herself before getting out of her chair, her legs aching a bit from how she’s had them crossed, and walking to take the basket from Ashley. “Did you see who dropped this off?”

 

“Mr. French did. It’s from his bakery. I’d recognize those blueberry muffins anywhere. If you don’t eat them, I’d be happy to take them off of your hands.”

 

She laughs and looks down into the basket. It’s full of bread. Like, a hell of a lot of bread. It’s mostly rolls and baguettes, but she sees the muffins and a few cinnamon rolls in there that she would recognize everywhere. Living with Belle means they always have books, but her dad always sends them baked goods and flowers too. She’s never quite gotten the full story of how Mr. French came to own a flower shop and a bakery, but he’s pretty much got the Valentine’s Day market down.

 

Smart man. People lost their minds over Valentine’s Day.

 

“You can have the rolls, but these muffins are all mine. I’m not going to refuse free food.”

 

“Smart lady. I’ll see you guys later!”

 

“Bye, Ash,” she says as Ashley walks away and she turns back into the office, placing the food down on her desk and pointedly ignoring the smirk that David’s got painted on his lips right now. She is not acknowledging that, especially since she already knows what he’s going to say. “You want a muffin?” she asks instead, picking a chocolate chip one out and unpeeling the wrapper before popping a bite in her mouth. “They’re really good.”

 

“I didn’t know you were dating someone,” David teases, reaching over and grabbing a roll. “And that he is very into bread.”

 

“I’m not dating anyone,” she murmurs under her breath, not caring that her mouth is full. David knows not to tease her about her love life, and here he is doing just that while eating her food. Traitor.

 

She guesses she did offer it to him, but that’s beside the point.

 

“Really?” he hums, and before she can stop him, he reaches over and grabs the envelope that she hasn’t opened yet, snatching it away from her grasp as she gets up and tries to take it from him, practically tripping over a filing cabinet and nearly stubbing her toe into David’s desk while he holds the card in the air (sometimes she hates how much taller he is than her) and reads it aloud. “Swan, since you said we couldn’t steal the bread from Belle at dinner, I figured you’d like some delicacies that still stem from the French family.”

 

It takes her less than a second to realize who sent her the bread basket, and it takes her approximately two seconds to figure out how she’s going to strangle him with a baguette.

 

Killian Jones.

 

Killian freaking Jones.

 

That’s not his middle name, but she feels like it might as well be. Or maybe something a little more crass. What the hell is he doing sending her a bread basket? She gets it. She does. It’s a clever callback to their dinner last week. The dinner that was so clearly a set up from their friends.

 

It doesn’t matter how many times she asks them to stop interfering with her love life, they never do. And there they were trying to set her up on a date with the one person who she doesn’t want to go on a date with. There they were setting her up with a man she can’t even speak to without getting aroused. She’s had months to let that settle in, and it’s still the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard in her life.

 

She’s heard a lot of ridiculous things too.

 

But Killian was nice, if not a little inappropriate sometimes with some of his jokes. She gets that though. She’s not a prude. She’s got a sailor’s mouth and likes to talk about sex and make innuendos as much as the next girl (if that girl is a mix between Ruby and Mary Margaret), so she’s used to it. She finds it funny. She finds him funny if she’s honest with herself, but liking Killian is not something she ever really plans on doing even if he’s hypothetically her soulmate.

 

(It’s easier to say hypothetically instead of admitting it to herself every single time she thinks about it.)

 

A part of her is still convinced that something else is going on, but she can’t figure any other explanation out. She’s spent weeks, literal weeks, thinking about it while trying to go to bed at night and is left alone with her thoughts and with the sounds of Belle and Will in Belle’s bedroom. Eventually they have got to move in together because Emma’s not sure how long she can live sharing a wall if Will is going to stay over.

 

It’s always the quiet ones who make the most noise.

 

But she gets it. Soulmates aside, they’re still human beings. They didn’t instantly fall in love, and not everything is perfect. They have issues and fights, and honestly, the tiny part of her that has faith in this whole thing is only reassured by that. She doesn’t want perfect. She’s never wanted perfect. Really, she hates the whole concept of perfect.

 

_“You’re perfect, Ems.”_

She shakes that thought of Neal away and looks back to David who is still smirking, looking for all the world like the cat who ate the canary, and accepts the fact that even though Killian Jones is not the worst person in the world, that doesn’t mean she has to run and leap into his arms and let him sweep her away with his accent and charm and…bread. She can still go about her business like usual. They’re not friends, and they don’t have to be.

 

Their text conversation that one night aside.

 

“Who sent you this food?” David asks again, sitting down in his desk chair and tossing her the card. She lets it fall to the ground, landing just below her desk. “And don’t lie to me. I can apparently ask Belle or her dad.”

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“You’re blushing.”

 

“I’m not blushing.”

 

“Look at the red on your cheeks! That’s blush!”

 

“It’s June. It’s called a sunburn.”

 

“Blush.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

He rips off another piece of bread and takes a bite. “You love me, but alright, I won’t ask who your mystery man is just yet. I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

 

“That,” she chuckles, “is not ever happening.”

 

It takes until a little past six to get all of her paperwork finished, but she finally does, her hand only cramping the slightest bit. She’s serious about some kind of fundraiser for the department. She needs a computer system that’s better than the one they have now. And, yeah, maybe a bake sale won’t work, but that calendar will. Mary Margaret and Ruby alone will buy the place out.

 

(Mary Margaret because she’s supporting David; Ruby because she likes hot men.)

 

They’re most likely not doing a calendar, but she’ll come up with something. Maybe she can go to city hall and see if they can find a little room in the budget. She’s sure there has to be room somewhere. Hell, they haven’t been paying the extra detective’s salary since Graham left. It’s probably all sitting in a bank account somewhere.

 

Maybe they can get a better coffee machine while they’re at it.

 

She could go for some coffee right now as she walks past Granny’s on the way to her apartment, nodding her head at some of the families that pass by. It’s summer in Storybrooke, which means family after family is flooding into town to use their beach and stay at the few rental houses that line the dock area. It’s a nice place, she can admit that. It’s part of what drew her here from Boston in the first place. She needed out and away from a large city and wanted somewhere nice and quiet, at least for a little while.

 

She’s been here for seven years.

 

And maybe she doesn’t get out to the beach as often as she used to, but she’s usually always working. Plus, it’s crowded all summer long. She has to go early in the mornings to get any peace a quiet there, and mostly it’s too cold for that. This is Maine after all.

 

She’ll go running there in the morning, really work up a sweat before work, maybe even see the sunrise.

 

Who is she kidding? She’s not going to get up early enough to see the sunrise.

 

A little bit after, though.

 

Ten minutes later she gets to her apartment building, taking the stairs the three floors up with her basket of bread and walking inside to find Belle sitting on the couch drinking a glass of wine and watching an episode of the Bachelor. She has a lot of thoughts on that show, most of them probably pretty insulting, but if she’s drunk enough, she can find it entertaining enough.

 

Though, she’ll never understand why there’s a show on finding love when everyone already has that predestined partner.

 

Money. Publicity. Ratings. And the occasional time when someone very literally finds their soulmate on the show.

 

“Hey,” she tells Belle, dropping her keys onto their tray. There’s her chapstick too.

 

“Hi,” Belle greets her, twisting around before turning back to look at the television. “This guy just jumped over the fence on here, and they can’t find him.”

 

“How can they not find him? They live on a compound.”

 

(So maybe she knows more about the show than she’s willing to admit.)

 

(Maybe she can be a bit more into it than she’s willing to admit.)

 

(Maybe she watches with Belle because this is when they get to hang out and when Belle breaks out the good wine.)

 

“He jumped over the fence to get out of the compound because the girl he loves just broke up with him.”

 

“No,” she gasps, walking over to the couch and placing the basket on the table before plopping down on the couch and pulling Belle’s fuzzy white blanket over her legs. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do when Belle does finally move out because all of the nice stuff in the living room is hers. “Are you serious? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Yeah, apparently he was – ” Belle stops talking while she watches the host chase after the fence jumping guy (she can’t remember his name). “Why do you have a giant gift basket of food from my dad’s bakery?”

 

Well shit.

 

“Oh, um,” she mumbles, messing with the tips of her hair, “someone dropped it off for me at the station today.”

 

She’s very pointedly not looking at Belle who she knows is looking at her. This Bachelor rerun is very exciting. How could she possibly look away? She can’t. It’s against the rules.

 

“Who?”

 

“Um, I don’t know,” she sighs as she reaches forward to grab another muffin, stuffing it in her mouth. She really does have to go running in the morning if she’s going to eat all of this. “There was no name. It was an anonymous donor or something. Probably just someone wanting to thank me for helping the town.”

 

Her eyes cut over to Belle, and she sees her readjusting her seat, sitting up on her knees while a grin slowly starts to form on her face.

 

Shit.

 

She’s about to get interrogated.

 

“Let me call my dad and ask who ordered this. He can tell us that way we know.”

 

“No, no, no. Let’s not do that.”

 

“Too late. I’m calling him.”

 

“Belle.”

 

“I’m doing it.”

 

She watches Belle pick up her phone, already dialing her dad, and in a move that she’s not proud of, she practically jumps over to Belle, grabbing her phone out of her hand and snatching it away unlike how she wasn’t able to grab the note out of David’s hand.

 

“Ha,” she laughs, standing up on the couch and backing away with the phone, “now you can’t.”

 

“Did you get drunk at work or something?” Belle chuckles, falling back against the couch cushions. “I mean, you can’t keep my phone forever, and also, I can just walk to go see my dad. So I’m thinking you know who sent you the basket, and you should definitely tell me. I’m going to find out no matter what.”

 

“If I tell you,” she begins cautiously, slowly settling down on the couch and taking a deep breath, “you have to promise to listen to the explanation and not make a big deal out of it. because I promise that it’s not a big deal.”

 

“You’re blushing. It’s a big deal.”

 

She rolls her eyes, throwing Belle’s phone back at her. “I hate you.”

 

“You do not.” She feels like she’s had this exact conversation before. Talk about Deja vu. “Now tell me. No one came into the library today, and I have been _starved_ for entertainment.”

 

“Have you ever considered reading a book?”

 

“Ha ha,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. “So funny. Now tell me who this is from before I walk to my dad’s.”

 

There’s suddenly a very interesting piece of lint on her blouse, and she focuses on picking at it while she mumbles, “Killian Jones sent it.”

 

“You want to say that again?”

 

She groans and throws her head back, clenching her teeth before looking at Belle. “Killian sent it to me.” Belle’s eyes light up, her lips parting to say something, and Emma holds up a finger before she can finish. “No, we are not dating, and no, we did not hit it off with each other the other night. While you and Will were arguing over your vacation, he made a joke about taking the bread and making a run for it. I told him we weren’t doing that, and for some reason he decided to spend far too much money sending me the largest basket of bread I’ve ever seen.”

 

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Belle practically squeals, jumping up and down a little on the couch. “Oh my gosh, I have to tell Mary Margaret.”

 

“I will rip the pages of a chapter out of one of your favorite books if you tell Mary Margaret.”

 

“Traitor.”

 

Yep. Definitely a sense of deja vu here.

 

“You’re the one who’s about to make a big deal out of nothing and who’s only going to make it worse by telling Marg.”

 

“It’s cute. Killian likes you. He’s obviously trying to impress you.”

 

“I don’t want to be impressed,” she huffs, scooting down further on the couch and toeing her shoes off before she takes another bite of her muffin, the crumbs falling on her shirt. “I want to go to work and do my job and then come home and watch the History Channel without anyone interrupting me. I don’t need a guy trying to make me smile with baked goods.”

 

“Oh, hon,” Belle sighs, reaching over and placing her hand over Emma’s, the compassion in her eyes so different than the glint of teasing that was just there, “it’s okay to flirt and have fun every now and then. Killian is a nice guy. He’s not trying to hurt you.”

 

“Just hurt my waistline.”

 

“Yeah, maybe that. Look, I can tell this is bothering you, and since I know you, I know it’s probably some deep seeded fear that no one but you knows about that’s going to make you drive yourself crazy. Don’t overthink the gift. That’s all that it is. And I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

She doesn’t say more because she doesn’t want to say more. Belle is right. This is about more than Killian being playful and teasing her. It’s about the fact that Neal did the same thing. So did Walsh. Graham did too, really, but she wouldn’t ever categorize him in the same douchebag category as Neal and Walsh. She probably wouldn’t categorize Walsh the same way that she does Neal, and he cheated on her. For months. And she didn’t even really care at the end of that even though she’ll never see the Fourth of July in the same way again. She was already checked out and resigned to herself never finding someone who she could trust.

 

And Neal…she doesn’t want to think about Neal. She can’t. It hurts too much.

 

That’s why Killian and his flirting and his bread basket terrify her. He can so easily charm her, is probably already on his way there, and if this whole magnetic thing between them really is their sign, that terrifies her all the more. Because what if he is her soulmate, and what if they still can’t make it work?

 

What if?

 

What if they’re the ones who can’t make it work?

 

But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know him, not really. She barely knows anything about him, and unless he keeps hounding her with random gifts that are going to make her go up a jean size, it’s not like she’s going to have to see him that much more.

 

So it’s all just fine.

 

When her alarm goes off the next morning, she almost turns it off and sleeps in, but something keeps her up and gets her going so that she’s lacing her sneakers and tugging on a sports bra and some leggings as she makes her way down to the beach, starting at the pier closest to her apartment and running until her legs burn and her chest aches while all of her other problems melt away. She runs and runs and runs until…

 

Well, until she sees Killian himself running toward her, his dark hair flopping up and down with his movements as his brother runs beside him, the two of them seemingly racing each other on the sand. She knows the moment he sees her because he falls behind Liam, his step faltering a bit before he speeds up again and moves toward her with this goofy grin on his face that almost makes her stop in her tracks, her feet sinking through all of the sand.

 

“Hey, Emma,” Liam yells to her, stopping his jog right in front of her. “I didn’t know you ran this early in the mornings. Elsa never mentioned that.”

 

“I usually don’t,” she gasps, reaching up to wipe the sweat from her brow and avoiding Killian’s gaze as a wave crashes behind her, sea mist reaching the skin on her ankles. Really, all that does is allow her to see the muscles on his stomach under his shirt, and she’s not sure how that helps. “I had a lot to eat yesterday and am trying not to be majorly bloated. Plus, I missed the beach.”

 

Killian coughs, and her eyes finally find his and notice the way his jaw is ticking. She almost forgot the effect she has on him, but she can tell that he’s squirming a bit, that he hasn’t spoken.

 

Why are the seagulls on this beach so damn loud?

 

“Don’t you just love the beach?” she continues, her lips pressing into a smile while she looks right at Killian. “It’s so beautiful, especially in the mornings before all of the crowds get here. I bet you guys spend a lot of time out on the water with your jobs.”

 

“Not as much as I’d like,” Liam admits, looking over to his brother. “Killian gets to a little more than me, though. He’s very hands on. Maybe one day we can take you out on one of our new boats that we’re test driving. I’m sure Elsa would love that.”

 

“I would love that too. We can make it a whole thing with some of our friends. Wouldn’t you love that, Killian?”

 

“Aye,” he grits, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’d be great.”

 

Her body tingles at his words, the beginnings of arousal pooling between her thighs, but as they continue to talk, she ignores it and makes sure that she gets more words in than him. It’s more fun than she thought it would be, and it only causes her a little pain. Maybe he doesn’t deserve her to torture him like this, but she did have to endure a lot of teasing from her friends yesterday like they’re all high schoolers. What’s fair is fair after all.

 

“Alright, lass,” Liam says a few minutes later, beginning to jog in place, “we best be going and let you finish your run.”

 

“Okay. I’ll text Elsa about that day out on the water, okay?”

 

“Sounds great.”

 

Liam begins to jog out of the way, and she thinks that Killian is going to join him, but instead he steps closer to her, his beard briefly scratching her ear as he leans in to whisper, his breath hot against her ear. “Two can play at this game, love.”


	5. Chapter Five

He bloody hates his brother.

 

No, that’s not right. He loves his brother, but he hates him right now.

 

He also strongly dislikes Elsa, Will, and Belle, but not as much as he hates his brother because he’s in this entire situation because of him and his big mouth inviting Emma Swan out onto one of the boats they currently have docked at their offices. Why in the world did Liam think that this was a good idea? He knows that they do this all of the time with their friends and Luis and Luca. It’s likely not the most ethical thing in the world, but they pass it off as a bit of a test drive to make sure that everything is working. He enjoys it, as does everyone else, but he still doesn’t understand why Liam decided to invite Emma when they ran into each other at the beach last week while jogging.

 

It was obviously a lack of blood flow to the brain or something like that.

 

When in the world did everyone he knows become part of the Emma Swan fan club? Suddenly all of his friends and family are also her friends, and he’s got no clue how they never crossed paths before.

 

Fate or something like that.

 

Mostly, though, once he gets past the fact that his brother asked Emma to spend an entire Saturday with them, he wonders why in the world Emma said yes.

 

Maybe she also had a lack of blood flow to her brain as she ran, and that’s why she agreed.

 

She’s trying to torture him, obviously. It’s what she’d done that morning as he tried to keep it together knowing that he and Liam still had at least two miles to run before they’d go their separate ways to their own homes. Emma had kept talking (making him have all kinds of issues that weren’t helped by her only being clad in a sports bra and leggings that might as well have been a second skin with sweat clinging to her stomach and the tops of her breasts), incessantly really, and despite their few meetings, he does know that she isn’t too much of a talker, preferring to let others fill in the gaps. And yet there she was not shutting her mouth while her eyes kept glancing at him, the right side of her lips curving into a smile.

 

Smirking.

 

Emma Swan was teasing him, torturing him really, and she knew it. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, and it really seemed like she was enjoying it.

 

Minx.

 

It was frustrating, emotionally and sexually, and made the rest of the run painful (he thinks he might have broken his personal best in time however), but a part of him realized that maybe it meant that Emma was kind of coming around to the idea of not wanting to totally avoid him. Maybe they’d somehow make some kind of attempt to be friends. He wants that so damn badly that it surprises him.

 

His cheeky attempt at talking to her through the bread basket might just have worked.

 

Or pissed her off. He’s honestly not sure. She gives him all kinds of mixed signals that he’s not even really sure are signals.

 

Maybe she doesn’t want to be friends. Maybe she’s simply sadistic and is playing a game with him. But like he said, two can play at this little game between them.

 

The problem is that Emma seems to be winning.

 

Emma is definitely winning, and he’s losing.

 

Damn it.

 

He’s sitting at the small marina outside of their offices with a cooler of drinks perched between his converse clad feet, and he’s waiting for everyone to show up while watching some of the white sails flutter in the wind as most people haven’t woken up to take their boats out yet. It’s beautiful out here with the ocean just feet away, the salt of the water mixing in with the air and making everything smell like the beach, which may very well be his favorite thing in the world. If he looks to his right, he can see a few colorful umbrellas perched along the sand with chairs and towels underneath them. The families who rent out the row of multi-colored pastel houses along the shoreline usually leave most of their umbrellas and chairs outside so as not to have to carry them back and forth every day, and he makes a note to himself to talk to Robin to see if the Parks department can hire a few teenagers in the summer to help with beach activities for tourists and making sure that the beach stays clean. He knows that most every teenager in town works at the shops that are already only open for the summer, so it should fit right in with that.

 

He and Liam also need to talk about setting out time for more sailing lessons and to make sure that’s advertised on their website.

 

Liam said they’d meet here at eleven, not too early and not too late, but since he lives the closest, in an apartment just half a mile away from the office, he’s here early. He always seems to be early wherever he goes. Even when he makes an attempt at showing up on time or even a little after the time, he is early. It’s ridiculous, but it’s obviously some other kind of curse that he’s going to be stuck with for the rest of his life.

 

At least it’s not something horrible. Being early isn’t the worst thing in the world.

 

Until he’s been sitting on this bench mulling over his thoughts for twenty minutes waiting for anybody to show up. Seriously anybody. The only people he’s seen are families he knows are in town for the week vacationing as they settle down under their left out umbrellas, and he’s not exactly keen on talking to them because he knows he’ll somehow get roped into giving them a local’s guide of Storybrooke.

 

He’s fallen into that trap one too many times.

 

He simply can’t help that he’s so charming.

 

Man, he really does sound like an asshole when he thinks things like that.

 

Sighing, he leans forward and props his elbows on his knees and rubs his hands across the back of his neck, trying to work out some of the tension that’s been gathering there all week. The boat they’re taking out today has been a pain in his ass to design and meet the owner’s satisfaction as they’re constantly adding in new little details that they want, and he barely slept this week trying to get as much done as possible before they take it out for this little joyride.

 

Deadlines and priorities and all that.

 

Closing his eyes, he tries to calm himself down and say that everything about today is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be relaxing. That’s the entire point of this. That’s what everyone else is here for. None of them know why this is torturous for him, though. It’s not just the fact that he’ll be sporting an erection today. It’s really not. This is…the whole thing is a torment on his emotions as he grapples with everything, and it’s not as if Emma is helping him out with how she’s going about everything. She doesn’t owe him anything, but damn, it’d be nice to be able to talk this out with someone.

 

Not that he can really even talk it out with her without wanting to take her against the nearest flat surface. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be a flat surface.

 

He’d tell Liam, let them have a nice chat over some glasses of rum simply so he can talk about how he’s feeling with this whole thing, but he promised Emma in the hallway of Ariel’s house that he wouldn’t say anything. He’s a man of his word and believes in good form, and he can’t break that promise. If he were to tell Liam, Liam would tell Elsa. Then Elsa would tell Ariel who would obviously tell Mary Margaret or Ruby and then it’ll all get back to Emma and she’d murder him and hide his body.

 

(Why does he keep thinking that she’s going to do that?)

 

They’d be playing some ridiculous adult version of phone tag like they played when he was a child, but instead of it ending in a word so far off from the original, all he’d get was a well deserved punch in the face for sharing something he said he wasn’t going to share and that is obviously deeply personal to the both of them.

 

This woman is maddening.

 

The bottom stair to step onto the dock creaks, and he twists his head to the side to see the maddening woman herself walking toward him with a small tote bag on her arm. Honestly, though, it’s the last thing he’s looking at because Emma’s simply wearing a pair of light washed jean shorts that do nothing to cover any part of her tanned, toned legs and a loose tank top that’s fallen down to show off the thin strap of her black bikini top covering her breasts.

 

Fuck.

 

He’s a strong man, but he can only take so much. This – this is too much, and it’s only going to get worse as she strips out of her clothes to tan or spends time in the water and talks to all of their friends.

 

He’s so screwed in every way but one.

 

Emma is most definitely still winning whatever game it is that they’re playing, and he hasn’t even gotten an opportunity to throw his hand in.

 

Two can play at this game, he reminds himself. That’s what he told her, and if she decides to mess with him today, he can do the same.

 

What the hell is he going to do?

 

Maybe he should simply fake an illness and go home, though that’ll be a little bit more difficult with Emma already being here.

 

He braces himself for her voice, but as she makes her way toward him, she’s surprisingly quiet, not saying a word as she settles down onto the bench next to him, her thigh far enough away from his that they could easily fit a small child between them. They sit like that for at least a minute and a half, total silence between them and only the distant sound of others talking around them, before his phone buzzes in his swimsuit pocket.

 

_Emma: Hi._

_Killian: Hey, Swan._

_Emma: Where is everyone else? I thought we had a boat to steal._

 

_Killian: We’re not stealing it. It’s a test drive._

_Emma: Sounds pretty suspicious to me._

_Killian: Are you going to try to arrest us or something?_

_Emma: Nah, I don’t like to waste my handcuffs._

_Emma: Or do the paperwork._

 

He chuckles a bit and glances to the side to see if she’s got the same amused look on her face. It’s not quite as obvious, but he can see the beginnings of a smile peeking through. He doesn’t understand her in the slightest. Truly, he doesn’t. She can be kind and funny only to be annoyed and harsh one second later, but he honestly thinks that might only be with him. All of his friends and family absolutely love her, so she’s obviously a good, sweet person. Maybe it’s him that rubs her the wrong way. Or maybe he’s right in his assumption that she simply doesn’t know how to handle what’s going on and is warring between feelings and emotions. He’s got no clue what’s happened in her past, but from the little glimpse that he got at dinner, he knows that she’s been hurt before and likely pretty badly.

 

So he doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know. Obviously, the universe thinks that they’re well matched up for some reason, and he kind of thinks the same. He’d like to get to know her, and he thinks she’d like to get to know him. She might simply be scared.

 

Plus the whole barely being able to talk to each other and all. That’s a bit of an obstacle since neither of them are willing to fall into the physical side of things. Well, he’s willing, but that’s an entirely different story.

 

_Killian: So you carry those handcuffs around often, do you?_

 

She quietly scoffs at that, though he hears it as if she made the noise in his ear, and he looks out of the corner of his eye to see if she’s typing on her phone or not.

 

_Emma: It’s part of my job. Don’t be weird._

_Killian: Who said anything about being weird? I’m simply enquiring more about your work. I’d love to know about the great men and women who serve our wonderful town._

_Emma: You’re ridiculous._

_Killian: I get that a lot._

_Killian: Do you guys also drink coffee and eat donuts every day?_

_Emma: Coffee, yes. Donuts, no._

_Emma: Damn, I wish there was a good stereotype about boat architects or designers. You picked a very niche field to go into. It’s hard to make fun of._

_Killian: I get a lot of Popeye jokes if that helps._

_Emma: I don’t think you’re buff enough to be Popeye._

 

It’s his turn to scoff at that, and when he glances at Emma, he sees a full smile on her face, her eyes crinkling the slightest bit as she laughs.

 

_Killian: Just wait until I eat some spinach, love._

 

“Wow, look at that lively conversation happening here,” Liam laughs as he steps in front of them, Killian not even noticing that he and Elsa and showed up on the docks with how wrapped up he was in the texts and enjoying a friendly moment with Emma. “It makes me think today is going to be fun.”

 

“Babe,” Elsa scolds, gently placing her hand on Liam’s arm and squeezing the blue material of his t-shirt, “be nice. You know that Emma can kick your ass if you piss her off too much.”

 

Emma kicking people’s asses seems to be a trend, and it’s kind of (incredibly) hot.

 

Liam huffs, placing his hands over his chest. “Well, I would never try to piss off Emma. I like her too much.”

 

“Oi,” he says without much thought, “what about me?”

 

“You’re my little brother. I enjoy annoying you.”

 

“Younger,” he grumbles. “I’m younger.”

 

“Whatever you say.”

 

“Where are Belle and Will?” Elsa questions, reaching down into her bag and pulling out a bottle of sunscreen before she begins slathering it across her pale skin. “They didn’t come with you, Emma?”

 

“They stayed at Will’s last night,” she answers, and he takes a deep breath to try to control himself, “but I just texted Belle. They’re on their way if we want to go ahead and start getting everything ready.”

 

Emma stands from the bench and pulls up her shorts, his eye line directly at the curve of her ass. He quickly stands as well even if he’d really rather sit for awhile, but it’ll help to get to move away from her for some time. It’ll help if Will and Belle get here and there are more people to talk to and more voices to try to hone in on.

 

Who is he kidding? No matter how he tries to focus on other sounds, Emma’s voice is always the loudest.

 

But he can at least try.

 

He grabs his cooler from the ground, placing the strap on his shoulder and heading down the docks until he gets to the boat they’re taking out today that’s nestled at the end of the dock.

 

The Magdalena.

 

It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful vessel. He simply happens to know that Magdalena is the name of the owner’s mistress and not his wife, but that’s none of his business. It’s not his job to uphold some kind of moral righteousness, and considering the wife was in the room when the name was suggested, he figures that it really and truly is not his concern. He’d be overstepping to say anything. Really, he shouldn’t know any of this at all, but within small towns like Storybrooke, gossip travels quickly.

 

“She’s a beauty, this one,” Liam sighs as he steps up the stairs to where the wheel is, turning the key and letting everything warm up. “How much longer until it’s off of our hands?”

 

“Wednesday.”

 

“Do we get paid then too?”

 

“We get another installment, yeah. They’ve got a monthly payment plan set up.”

 

“Ah, okay,” Liam hums next to him, running his hands over the dashboard before pressing up on his toes and looking down below to the bow where Emma and Elsa are sitting on the white cushions with their feet propped up on the small table that’s been installed. He can hear Emma talk, hear her laugh, but it’s more muted with the sound of the motor and seagulls and his brother’s voice so it’s not affecting him as much. “So Emma is nice.”

 

“Aye,” he agrees, rolling his eyes a bit under his sunglasses because he knows where this is going, “she is.”

 

“I think you two would get along.”

 

“You and every other bloody person in this town.”

 

“What?”

 

He waves Liam away, reaching into the cooler and pulling out a bottle of water. He wants a beer, but it’s too early for that. At least he’s not driving today. He doesn’t have to worry about indulging too much. Not that he will. He’s got a pretty good tolerance, but he’s thirty-five and not twenty-two anymore. Hangovers are a killer.

 

“About two weeks ago Will and Belle invited me over to dinner like Belle is always doing, but Emma was also there and I’m pretty sure it was a set up.”

 

“Well see? If we all think you two would make a good match, it must be true. I don’t know how you never met before.”

 

“I don’t either.”

 

Liam sits down in his chair and crosses his legs over each other as he props them up on the dash. He’s got on these ridiculous patterned swim shorts with crabs and sailboats on them, and Killian really hopes that the twins picked them out for him.

 

They probably didn’t.

 

“So,” he nudges, his lips pressing together before parting so that Killian can see all of his teeth, “do you think you’ll ask her out on a date?”

 

He nearly spits out the water he’s taking a sip of even though he knew that was coming. He is not a gullible man, but damn do people keep catching him off guard.

 

“No,” he replies flatly even while he coughs a bit, pointedly ignoring the raised brows on Liam’s forehead. “She’s a fine lass, but I don’t think either of us are very interested in dating, especially after being constantly set up by our friends and apparently as of today, my brother too.”

 

Liam raises both hands in the air. “I’m not setting you up, I promise.”

 

“Then why’d you invite her?”

 

“She said she didn’t get to spend enough time at the beach, and I figured Elsa would be itching at the opportunity to hire a sitter for the kids and spend time with a few of her friends.”

 

He hums, not at all believing his brother, but he’s already in this situation. There’s no stopping it.

 

“Whatever. Just…let me worry about my own love life, okay? Not everyone has heard their wife’s thoughts in his head since he was a child, and it’s not that simple for me. I can’t simply date anyone. I did that before, and I got my heart broken.”

 

“I understand. I’m worried about you is all…not everyone finds their soulmate, little brother, and I figured you could use some happiness.”

 

He rises from his chair and claps Liam on the shoulder, trying to ignore the thump in his heart that may very well be threatening to stop itself right now as he thinks of all the things that he knows that Liam doesn’t. It’s more complicated than he could ever imagine.

 

“Let me worry about my own happiness. I have enough with all of these people who already do love me enough to torture me like this by continuously setting me up. And again, it’s younger. You and I both know no part of me is smaller than you.”

 

“Oi,” comes a shout from below, and he twists his head around to see Will helping Belle onto the boat, “were you wankers about to leave without us?”

 

“If you were another two minutes late, we would have,” he yells back down, winking at Belle who’s already got blush on her cheeks. “Did you have a late morning trying to fix your hair, Scarlett?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I did. I had to make it look all pretty for you.”

 

“Aww shucks,” he teases in his best attempt at a dainty American accent, “I can’t believe you’d do that for little old me.”

 

“I’ve got to look my best for my honey bunches.”

 

“You two are the weirdest friends, I swear,” Belle mumbles as she tosses her bag through the enclosed space and walks around to where Elsa and Emma are still sitting, the two of them getting up when they see her to wrap her in separate embraces.

 

“So are we going or what?” Will groans, his tact always evident. “I’ve got to be at the Rabbit Hole at eight.”

 

“Calm down, Scarlett,” Liam sighs, moving his feet down from the dash, “we’re going.”

 

For the next two hours he spends most of his time avoiding Emma. It’s a large boat, but it’s not a yacht. There’s only so many places he can hide out from her, especially since he can still faintly hear her voice wherever he goes. But it’s faint, and so is the buzz on his skin that feels more like the sun is beating down on him than anything else. It’s definitely different than it usually is, the intensity of hearing her talk not quite as strong, but he imagines it’ll be different when he’s actively in the same place listening to her voice. And there’s only so much longer that he can hide down below reapplying sunscreen or claiming to be getting lunch ready in the kitchen when they’re having sandwiches and chips. At some point he’d like to bask in the sun a little and take a dip in the ocean.

 

With a deep breath, he unbuttons his button down and leaves it on the couch, running his hand over the scars on his left hand. He really hopes that they’re not sensitive to the sun today. He’s got enough issues going on for that to also be one.

 

This is all fine. It’s going to be fine. Just because he’s tortured by Emma’s mere presence doesn’t mean he can’t have a nice day.

 

When he emerges from down below, sliding the frosted glass doors open, he nearly turns back around at the sight in front of him.

 

Bloody hell.

 

Emma’s stripped out of her clothes and is simply wearing the black bikini he got a glimpse of earlier, but it’s so much worse (better) without her shorts and tank top covering her skin. God, she’s stunning. He’s not sure he’s ever seen someone as beautiful as her, and as she stretches her arms above her head to pull her hair into a bun, he can see the muscles in her arms and the toned lines of her stomach while desire stirs inside of him that has nothing to do with her voice. It surely doesn’t help that a good portion of her breasts are exposed as she moves.

 

He likes to think he’s stronger than this, but in the end, he isn’t. 

 

Idly he wonders if they’re too far away from the shore for him to swim back to get away from this torture. He needs a good work out regardless.

 

When Emma’s finished tying her hair into the messy bun, blonde tendrils still falling down framing her face, she turns to face him where he’s still standing by the doorway like a slack jawed idiot.

 

“Hi,” she greets, waving her hand a little bit, her mouth opening again before her lips press together as she must suddenly remember their little predicament.

 

Killian nods in response, still thinking about swimming away.

 

Emma raises her hand, fingers motioning in a circular motion like she’s trying to mime something before giving up and slapping her hand against her leg. “Where’s the cooler?”

 

“Up the stairs, love,” he smiles, ignoring the hum at the base of his spine. “Do you need something?”

 

“Water. I already feel parched, which is probably not a good sign for the rest of the day. So, um, thanks.”

 

“Tis not a problem.”

 

He leaves Emma to go up the ladder to get the cooler. They should probably bring it down here where everyone is sitting, but he’ll get around to that later when they all manage to actually eat lunch. Moving around the side of the boat, he makes his way to the bow and takes a seat on the open bench as everyone else is already seated talking about some of the summer programs that Belle has set up for the kids at the library every day.

 

“I’m trying to get funding for field trips to different parts of town for the daycare kids, but you know how difficult it is to get anything through town hall.”

 

“It’s awful,” Elsa sighs. “I was trying to get access to a deed the other day for this case I’m working on, and it took them two hours to not be able to find it in the archives only for me to find it in ten minutes. But that would be a great idea. I’m sure the twins would love that. You know the other day they told me they were old enough not to need a babysitter anymore?”

 

“Really?” Belle laughs.

 

“Oh yeah, Luca came downstairs one morning already dressed with her hair braided and very proudly told me that she could take care of herself.”

 

“That’s because she takes after you, lass,” he smiles, stretching his arm out on the back of the bench. “If she took after Liam she wouldn’t be nearly as independent.”

 

“Says the man who couldn’t tie his shoes until he was seven.”

 

“Why wear shoes when you can walk around without them?”

 

“Because you lived in a civilized place.”

 

“I totally agree with Killian,” Emma says as she comes around the corner, still looking as beautifully torturous as she did minutes ago, especially as she keeps talking. “Shoes are overrated.”

 

“You have on sandals right now,” Will points out.

 

“My feet would burn off on this boat if I didn’t.” Emma takes a few more steps before she’s sitting down next to him. It’s a small enough space down here, the better seating area really at the stern, that their thighs do press together, smooth skin mixing in with the dark hair on his legs. “So they do have their purposes, but it’s more comfortable without them. I mean, do you wear them at home?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“But not all the time.”

 

“God, I take my heels off as soon as I walk in the door,” Elsa groans, flexing her feet as she talks.

 

“That’s because they’re torture devices,” Belle and Emma nearly say at the same time.

 

“Bloody wonderful torture devices if you ask me.”

 

“No one did,” Emma scowls, even if he can see her lip threatening to turn into a smile. This is not as bad as he thought it was going to be, even if he does think that he’s going to have to get into the water soon to hide his problem that is slowly arising. “So are we going to get in the water or what?”

 

He gently slaps the edge of her shoulder. “Taking the words right out of my mouth there, Swan.”

 

She leans in close to his ear, and he can feel her breath on her skin, a contrast of cool versus the warm ocean breeze. “Good. Then maybe you’ll stop talking because I think I’m about to go insane.”

 

“Like I said, love, two can play at this game.”

 

And even though he warred with whether or not he wanted to tease her, the pros and cons seemingly balancing out on if it’s worth or not, for the rest of the afternoon, the two of them set out to mess with each other as much as they possibly can. Emma never stops talking. Like, ever. She seems to talk about anything and everything as they settle into the water, floating around in the clear blue ocean with the occasional fish swimming between his legs. At one point she’s spent a solid thirty minutes talking about the fact that Outlander is now on Netflix and then describing the entire first season to Elsa and Belle and talking about having a girls’ night to watch it, and he thinks he’s about to dissolve into the ocean for how turned on he is.

 

The universe’s sense of humor is cruel.

 

So he does the only thing he can think of doing to make her stop talking. Like the grown man in his mid-thirties that he is, he splashes her with salt water, making sure that it’s enough to cover her face.

 

“What. The. Hell.” Emma mumbles, spitting the water out of her mouth as she gapes at him, green eyes widened and in full view without her sunglasses. “Why did you just do that?”

 

“I didn’t do anything. Sometimes the water has a mind of its own, you know? We are invading its space.”

 

Emma doesn’t say anything back, and he wonders if he’s rendered her speechless. That would be some kind of miracle, and he hopes that it’s true, that his childish plan worked.

 

But it very obviously didn’t as Emma slowly but surely wades over to him as their friends keep talking, obviously all choosing to ignore what happened until Emma splashes him, getting the water directly in his eyes so that it burns for him to keep them open.

 

“Bloody hell, woman.”

 

“What’s fair is fair,” she teases, and he can practically imagine the look on her face, the smirk on her pink lips, while he struggles to control himself and to be able to even see which only becomes more difficult when he feels a weight on his back, arms around his neck and smooth legs around his waist while breasts press into his shoulder blades as Emma attempts to pull him down into the ocean with her weight. “Personally, I think you should have seen this coming.”

 

He grunts in response, opening his eyes even if things are still a little blurry, and because he knows that Emma is trying to push him under the water and hasn’t quite succeeded yet, he grabs onto her calves and pulls them both down, submerging them into the cool water as Emma wiggles against him, slapping and kicking at his chest until he pushes them back up to the surface, gasping for air and shaking his hair out.

 

“You asshole,” she groans, falling off of him but still kicking her legs toward him to splash him with water.

 

“I did tell you I’d answer to that,” he teases as he chases after her as she swims away, finally catching up to her and grabbing onto her ankles to pull her back to him, their chests nearly touching while they both catch their breath, shoulders heaving and faces flushed red. Her hair has completely fallen out of her bun, the blonde curls dark and wild with the ocean water settling in them, and as he stares at the water that’s falling down her face, landing on her eyelashes and dropping to her cheeks and her lips, all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss her.

 

Her lips would probably be salty and a little dry from the day out in the sun, but her skin would be warm and soft. He knows that it is. He’s just touched it in all of their teasing and rough housing in the water like they’re kids. It was fun, enjoyable, and he doesn’t care that he’s going to get teased about it later by Liam and Will. He really doesn’t because all he can think about is what it would be like to move two inches and glide his lips over Emma’s as he succumbs to his desires.

 

It’s that thought that stops him even as he reaches forward and brushes some of her hair behind her ear so that it’s not falling in her eyes. Emma has been talking for so long, her voice louder than anything out here, and he’s been so turned on that he hasn’t known what to do. Whatever this is between them is most likely a product of that, of this idiotic connection they have with each other’s voices, even if it seems to not be working in the same way that it did on the day that they first met. It’s not as intense as it was then, even though it is still most definitely a problem, and all of the questions that he has continue to whirl around in his head to form even more.

 

And now he wonders if he actually wants to kiss her, if he actually does have these budding feelings for her, or if it’s all a product of the universe and all of their friends pushing them together.

 

He thinks that he truly does like her, that he might be ready to move on from his heartbreak, but whatever they become is up to her as much as it is to him.

 

So he won’t kiss her. Not today. Not when he doesn’t know what’s going on.

 

“You two are going to turn into prunes if you stay in the water much longer,” Belle supplies from the boat, a soft smile on her face. “And I think we’re about to eat.”

 

“We’ll be right there,” Emma yells back, her eyes never leaving him as they continue to search his face. “We should get back on the boat.”

 

“Aye, it’s just – ”

 

“You’ve got a little problem below deck,” she teases, some of the seriousness falling away from her gaze as she smiles.

 

“I’ll have you know that it’s quite a _sizeable_  problem.”

 

“Whatever you say, Jones.”

 

The two of them do eventually get back on the boat and after he’s calmed himself down below deck (figuratively and literally) and changed into a set of dry shorts and pulled his button down back on, not bothering to close it as he settles down back at his spot on the bench next to Emma like he did earlier with everyone else already sitting down and eating. The rest of the afternoon is much calmer as his brother and his friends lead most of the conversation, he and Emma staying quiet. He’s not sure if maybe she’s being kind by not talking or if maybe she doesn’t want him to either so she’s not affected, but he thinks that it works for them as they only join in when necessary.

 

And at the end of the day when Liam is driving them back to shore, he feels soft hair on his neck and even softer skin pressing against his shoulder, so he twists his head to the side to see that Emma’s fallen asleep, little puffs of air passing through her lips as she’s curled up on the seat.

 

He smiles a bit to himself and adjusts his arm underneath her.

 

Maybe today was better than he thought it would be.

 

No, definitely.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kind of early update for you guys! Things really and truly start to move forward and speed up after this chapter, but this one sets a few things in motion 😘

“How do you eat like that?” Ariel asks as they sit in their regular booth at Granny’s, Emma taking a large bite out of her grilled cheese sandwich. Granny must have just taken it off the stove because it’s hot enough to burn the roof of her mouth, but this is the best way to eat it.

 

Sometimes food takes a little risk.

 

“Eat like what?” she mumbles, adjusting herself on the old, cracked vinyl seat. She loves this place. She really does, but Granny should think about brightening it up and getting rid of the creepy woodland wallpaper and recovering these booths in another material that’s not falling apart. As long as she doesn’t stop selling this food, though, Emma doesn’t care too much. If she changed her recipes or something, that would be a totally different story.

 

“Unhealthy. You are so tiny, and yet we come in here several times a week for you to fill your stomach with grease.”

 

“It’s good. You should try it sometime.”

 

“I don’t want to balloon up,” Ariel sighs, cutting into the chicken in her salad with a particularly unpleasant scowl on her lips.

 

“You’re eating for two,” she points out, taking a sip of her water and motioning to the slight swell of Ariel’s stomach that seems to be getting bigger every time Emma sees her. “That’s pretty much the perfect excuse to eat junk food.”

 

“You’re actually not supposed to do that. Really, you can eat about three hundred more calories a day, but it’s all supposed to be healthy things with vitamins and nutrients so that the baby stays healthy. Plus, the less weight you gain, the easier it is to work off after you’ve given birth.”

 

Her heart stings for a minute, and it has absolutely nothing to do with her unhealthy eating habits. Shaking it off, she shrugs her shoulders and tears off a piece of her sandwich. “I get that. I’m just saying, if you want to share my basket of onion rings, the offer is always on the table.”

 

“Literally.”

 

The bell on the door of the diner rings, a little chime that always echoes around in her head afterwards, and she glances toward the door where she sees both Jones brothers walk in, Liam coming in first and Killian following right behind him adjusting the sleeves to his light blue dress shirt that’s tucked into well-fitting navy pants. She has no idea how Ariel works with him every day when he looks like that.

 

Her mind has got to stop going there when she thinks of him.

 

Plus, Ariel’s married, but that doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate someone else. Eric and Killian kind of look alike, so honestly, Ariel likely has a type. She thinks that Ariel looks at him kind of like a brother, though. They’ve never talked about him much. They usually try to stay away from talking about work. She’s not really sure how that started, but she appreciates being able to talk about stupid things like a funny joke she found online or a movie that she just watched on Netflix.

 

Or a good book.

 

A lot of her friendships here in town kind of start from a book if she’s honest with herself. As a kid, a lot of her foster homes didn’t allow her to watch television past a certain hour, and when she could watch, the older kids usually controlled the television, keeping it all to themselves so that they were watching shows she never really understood. She needed some kind of entertainment, some kind of story that would take her out of the reality of her real life and the loneliness she felt so that she could feel something happier. So that she could be happier.

 

And then one day someone came to talk to her third grade class about how library cards were free, and as long as she turned her books in on time and took good care of them, she could read whatever she wanted.

 

The first book she picked up was _Nancy Drew and The Secret of the Old Clock_.

 

And then she read every single book in the rest of the series. Even when she moved to a new house and had to go to a different library, the first thing she checked was to make sure that they had the Nancy Drew books on their shelves. They were here safe haven in times when she didn’t feel safe or loved, and she was able to get lost in the words and the stories and maybe pretend that she was Nancy or one of her friends for a little while.

 

It’s funny because, strangely enough, reading about a female detective, even if she wasn’t a real one, kind of put the idea in Emma’s head for her to be a detective herself. Well, Neal did as well, but she doesn’t like to give him credit for anything. He doesn’t deserve it.

 

Books have kind of been her life, though, even if she doesn’t admit that to everyone (people get weirdly judgmental about things like that and act as if they’re superior because they don’t read - what a load of shit that is), and when she moved to Storybrooke seven years ago as a fresh graduate from the police academy and with a freshly broken heart that she wasn’t entirely sure was still functioning properly, the first place she went after putting her things in the crappy loft she was renting was the library.

 

Belle greeted her from behind the desk, and despite the fact that the last thing that she wanted was to talk to someone with such a cheery face, she did. It was mostly about books at first. That was the safe option. Of course she’d had to muddle through that she was new in town and that she had moved because she was hired as a police officer (mostly true), but Belle didn’t seem to pry. She minded her own business and let Emma do the same.

 

It’s likely why they’re friends and roommates. Though, Belle does pry a bit more now, but that’s because Emma has allowed her to. Belle knows almost all of Emma’s dirty little secrets, the words slowly spilling off her tongue over the years - mostly with the help of a little wine if she’s honest - and it’s nice having someone know her like that even if it does make her feel vulnerable, even if Belle knows why Emma reacts to certain things in the ways that she does.

 

Ariel knows things too. Not as much, but Ariel is still one of her best friends. That’s thanks to Belle too. Really, all of her social life is thanks to Belle. She introduced Emma to Ariel one day when they were getting lunch, and after Ariel came Mary Margaret, even if she already knew her because of David. Finally, wrapping it all together were Ruby and Elsa, and suddenly Emma had all of these friends that she had no idea how to deal with.

 

Little by little, she’s kind of figured it out, even if she’s told that she can be a bit prickly. Personally, she thinks it’s all part of her charm.

 

Her eyes discreetly follow Killian as he moves further into the building, and she watches as he reaches up to push his hair back, the loose strands moving to the top of his head before falling back at his forehead again. It’s unfair how men’s hair just kind of looks good like that without too much effort.

 

It’s unfair that Killian looks how he does.

 

It’s kind of all she’s focused on ever since they all went sailing (Is that the right term since it wasn’t a sailboat? Or is it supposed to be boating? That doesn’t really sound right either, but it doesn’t matter enough for her to care too much) on Saturday. It had been a nice day even if she was a little apprehensive of it. If she’s honest with herself, about half of her reason for going was to mess with Killian. Running into he and Liam on the beach had been a bit of luck, whether that’s bad or good still to be decided, and while she really did jump at the opportunity to be able to get to go spend a day out on the water at absolutely no cost to her, she also likes bothering Killian.

 

It’s fun, and it keeps things light hearted between them when there’s always this omnipresent heavy weight between them that makes every interaction have this extra little meaning to it.

 

And maybe it’s her way of deflecting that and deflecting the fact that she doesn’t hate Killian. He can’t help that this is the way their lives have rolled out any more than she can. She’s still scared and confused and angry over the whole thing (she’d like to give the universe a big middle finger), but it’s not as if she’s falling in love with Killian. They’re not dating. They’re barely even friends, and she’s not putting herself into a situation where she can be left heartbroken again.

 

But then there had been a...moment in the water with she and Killian.

 

All day they’d been teasing each other, and she knows that she was far worse than him at doing it. She was probably pretty mean about it, and if he hadn’t decided to mess with her right back, the guilt in her gut would make her feel the need to apologize.

 

She’s not heartless despite what some people think.

 

Saturday was definitely different. Whatever this thing is that affects them, well, it’s still strong, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was when they first met at Ariel’s pregnancy announcement party two months ago. On that day she’d barely been able to control herself after they talked for the first time. Like, she had been ready to jump his bones (what a weird way to say she wants to sleep with someone) on the floor - or the wall - of the hallway right then and there with him only saying a few words that should not have turned her on. She has never felt that on edge in her life, even when she’s seconds away from an orgasm, and it had been overwhelming to say the least.

 

It was still overwhelming on Saturday, but it was less so. Every word he said didn’t send a tingle down her spine and make heat curl between her legs. Sure, if he talked enough it did, but it wasn’t as intense. She was still ready to jump his bones (she’s just going to go with it, though fuck like bunnies could also work...or jump Jones’s bones...that rhymes) several times through the day, but she could control herself without too much pain...most of the time. There were still times where it sucked. 

 

And it definitely doesn’t help that Killian’s an attractive guy, and now that she’s seen him shirtless, has seen the toned muscles under the dusting of dark chest hair that leads down to a particular piece of anatomy that she got a brief glimpse of on the day they met ( _say hello to his little - big - friend_ ), she’s got that image to go along with all of the dirty thoughts that her mind comes up with whenever she hears him talk.

 

Which is happening right now as he orders food at the counter.

 

Damn sensitive hearing.

 

Damn Killian Jones.

 

“Your bosses are here,” she tells Ariel as she takes another bite of an onion ring, sliding the checkered basket to the middle of the table so that Ariel can eat some if she wants to.

 

She’s definitely going to take at least one.  

 

“Really?” Ariel twists in the booth and looks over at the counter. “Huh, I didn’t know they were coming in here today. Liam usually meets Elsa at her office for lunch, and Killian almost always eats in the office.”

 

“Alone?”

 

“Sometimes. I eat with him on some days, but he likes the alone time.”

 

She hums, understanding that as she attempts to focus all of her attention on Ariel, not really wanting to question too much about Killian despite her curiosities. Ariel is pretty much the one friend she has left who is also good friends with Killian and hasn’t tried to set her up with Killian, and she’d like to keep it that way.

 

It’s pretty much inevitable.

 

“So, you still not gonna tell me if baby Fisher is a boy or a girl?”

 

“Nope. Eric and I aren’t finding out. We want it to be a surprise.”

 

“You’re not at all curious?”

 

“Of course I am,” Ariel smiles, reaching over to the center of the table and plucking up an onion ring. Ha, Emma knew she would take one. Why is she so proud of that? “I personally feel like I’m going to crack in a month or so and call Dr. Whale to tell me so that I can start thinking of names and knowing which of Eric’s to rule out.”

 

They have really got to have another regular gynecologist in town besides Victor Whale. She drives thirty minutes to Beddington to see someone who she has not heard sex stories about from Ruby.

 

Seriously. It’s weird to know that someone’s dick curves slightly to the left when he’s looking in her vagina to make sure everything is still working down there.

 

“Oh yeah. Does he have bad names picked out?”

 

“The worst. Coral Fisher. It’s like he wants our kid to get made fun of for her name being nautical.”

 

“That’s pretty bad.”

 

“Finley Fisher is another weird nautical one, but it’s not as bad. It’s kind of cute, but I don’t think it really works with our last names.”

 

“Has he got any for boys?”

 

“Nope, not really. He’s pretty convinced that it’s a girl.”

 

“You know, Killian Fisher sounds like a great name.”

 

She shakes her head as a shiver runs through her, gooseflesh rising on her arms that she tells herself is from the air conditioning in here but knows that it’s not. Damn it. She thought it was getting better.

 

Fuck him.

 

Not literally.

 

“The only way there’s ever going to be anyone named Killian Fisher is if we get married, and you change your last name.”

 

“I’d do it,” Killian chuckles, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while she notices the way he’s got his dress shirt unbuttoned one button too far, the chain around his neck falling against the dark dusting of hair. The man likes his chest hair. She doesn’t blame him. Or maybe he doesn’t want to get sweaty. It is sweltering out here. Nah, he’s the type of guy to show off his chest. He’s got this...swagger about him. Is that a thing people still say? Swagger? “Tell Eric that you’re divorcing him, and we’ll be good to go.”

 

She squirms a bit in the booth, crossing her legs over each other so that her knee bumps the table, shaking all of the contents, with her glass of water spilling over and onto her lap.

 

Of course.

 

Of course this is how her day is going to go.

 

“Are you serious?” she groans, picking the glass up before she wipes some of the water on her jeans off, most of the liquid already settling itself in the denim and in her skin.

 

“This seems to be a problem for you a lot, lass,” Killian teases, smiling down at her as his right brow raises on his forehead, lines forming on his skin. He likes that move a lot.

 

“Well, the last time it wasn’t my fault, so I’d say that this one isn’t either.”

 

She watches his jaw tick before he composes himself. “We’ll call it even.”

 

“What are you two talking about?” Ariel questions.

 

“Nothing,” they both answer before she continues, “I’m going to go get some napkins and dry myself off, okay A? Ruby is going to be so pissed that she has to clean up under this table.”

 

“Probably. I’d watch your back.”

 

She slides out of the booth, her jeans clinging to her skin, and brushes past Killian to go to the counter and grab several napkins out of the dispenser, propping her leg up on an empty barstool and wiping herself down while she murmurs to herself about how much today sucks even though she realistically knows that it does not.

 

“Nice socks.”

 

“Shit,” she gasps, jumping a bit and turning her head to look at Killian. When in the world did he follow her over here? Why in the world did he? “Why are you over here?”

 

“Getting napkins to clean up your mess at the table.” He very pointedly pulls a napkin from her stack, waving it in her face. “Figured I could help while you pulled yourself together, but then I was distracted by your socks and the fact that they are two drastically different colors.”

 

She wants to whimper because every word he’s saying is driving her into madness. She thought it was getting better and that maybe this whole thing would die down. She really did think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t her soulmate sign.

 

That’s what she wants, right?

 

There’s too much going on for her to have think about this. She’s still got to go back to work and meet with Marco to discuss the break in at his furniture store. Someone apparently stole several end tables, and she can’t at all understand why they stole those when he has expensive couches and beds in there. Maybe the end tables were less conspicuous? She really doesn’t know, but she does know that it’s going to take her all day.

 

And she really needs some _relief_ right now.

 

“Can you please stop talking?”

 

She knows that it’s the wrong thing to say when the right side of Killian’s lip curls up, and he leans a little closer to her, warmth radiating off of him. “Why, darling, do you simply find my voice so irresistible that if I keep talking you’ll have to have me right here on the counter of Granny’s.”

 

“That’d be hot, but it’s against health code violations,” Ruby mumbles from behind the countertop, handing Emma the roll of paper towels that she kind of wants to bury her face in right now from how flustered she is. “I learned that one the hard way.”

 

“I always knew you were a feisty one, lass,” Killian jokes, winking at Ruby, and that only makes her more agitated as she furiously wipes at her jeans, figuring that she’s going to be stuck all riled up with wet pants on for the rest of the day with absolutely nothing that she can do about it.

 

Well, unless she wants to mortify David and walk around in just her underwear.

 

She kind of wants to mortify David.

 

She really shouldn’t.

 

Mostly right now she’s torn between asking Ruby if there’s a room upstairs for she and Killian to have sex in and throwing her arm in the air so that her fist collides with Killian’s face.

 

Of course, she could do both, but she is not going to sleep with him simply because the universe is so insistent on the two of them getting laid.

 

Best (not) laid plans and all that.

 

She needs another cup of coffee because she has lost it and caffeine cures all things, right?

 

Maybe it’ll kill the murderous urges she’s having right now. She should definitely not be having any of this.

 

Huffing, she takes the paper towel roll and walks back to the booth, needing to clean up the spill and get away from Killian as he flirts with Ruby. She can still hear him, will not be able to get his voice out of her head until they’re in separate buildings, but instead of murdering him (she is supposed to uphold the law after all), she focuses all of her rage at drying down the table and the seat.

 

“You okay?” Ariel asks.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Fine never means fine.”

 

“It does this time, okay? I’m fine. I’m just dandy. Perfect. I’ve never been better.”

 

“Then maybe don’t rip a hole in Granny’s seat,” Ariel soothes, reaching over to grab onto her hand. “It’s just a little spilled water. It’s really no big deal.”

 

She sighs, unable to think of anything else before she plops down on the seat again, not caring that it’s still a little damp. Her food is probably lukewarm by now, but she still wants to finish off her onion rings at least, trying not to stew in her anger, irritation, and the goddamn desire that is still driving her crazy and making her feel like she’s actually on fire, the spilled water doing nothing to drown it out.

 

She really hopes that Ruby doesn’t say anything about she and Killian flirting with each other. She doesn’t really think she was flirting, but that’s totally what it was. And maybe, just maybe, Ruby will be too busy flirting with Killian herself to remember to tell all of their friends what she overheard them talking about.

 

Boy does she hope so.

 

For the last ten minutes of her lunch break she finishes eating her barely warm food and orders a coffee to go. She’s exhausted, and she needs some kind of pick me up to make this better. She needs coffee. When Ruby brings her cup to her, it’s wrapped in a white paper napkin, the protective holder keeping it in place.

 

“Tall, dark, and handsome told me to tell you that it was on him.”

 

“Did he poison it?”

 

“No,” Ruby laughs, looking at her and then at Ariel’s empty seat that she vacated to run to the bathroom before they head back to their offices, “he did not poison it because he’s not trying to kill you. I’m actually pretty sure that you intrigue him, which is a feat in and of itself for the eternal bachelor.”

 

“You intrigue him as well.”

 

“I intrigue everyone, my sweet Emma,” Ruby sighs before patting her on the shoulder and walking away so that Emma is left with her thoughts and her coffee.

 

And this napkin that she’s sure Killian left for her as some kind of passive aggressive taunt for spilling her drink when really he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

 

_In case you spill your coffee._

_PS: Do you match your underwear as well as you match your socks? They do sell undergarments in matching pairs, you know? I could recommend a few places._

_Your secret admirer._

Cheeky bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being the best readers! Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter Seven

Sitting down on the bench on the balcony of his apartment, Killian props his feet up on the railing, crossing his right ankle over his left, and takes a long swing of his bottle of beer, letting the liquid trail down his throat while the rain pounds down around him, coating the edge of everything in a thin sheen of water. He’s thankful for the covering that he has to shield himself from it all because he loves watching storms happen from outside, getting to feel the thunder tremble through the air and hear the rain water mix in with the depths of the ocean as waves crash onto the shoreline and darken the sand. It’s weirdly soothing. The weather never gets bad enough up here for storms to make him nervous, for him to have to take shelter, so with the soothing sounds of the ocean roaring, he takes a few moments to relax and not feel any tenseness in his shoulders.

 

Summer has fully come into effect in Storybrooke, the sun heating up and the tourists rolling in with the summer storms, and he’s in the midst of most of his days being spent giving sailing lessons or simply taking families out sailing because he and Liam can’t seem to find anyone who is competent enough to work for them and not drink on the job or nearly cause a crash. He knew that this would be a part of his job when they decided on adding it as a service. He enjoys it, really, but it’s been especially busy for the last week of June and the first three days of July. Everything in the office seems to calm down as the peak of summer hits, so the lessons and community engagement are really for supplemental income and to keep their company name relevant.

 

Right now he could go for a little irrelevance.

 

It’s mostly because he’s got a sunburn on his shoulders that hurts when he stretches the wrong way and that makes him agitated because he almost religiously applied sunscreen to protect himself and his skin for all of the time that he spends outside. And he’s tired, so damn tired that he could fall asleep in this uncomfortable chair with the cushion that kind of hurts his ass.

 

Next week he’s buying new patio furniture, and he’s making Will and Robin haul it up here since the only reason he has this uncomfortable chair is because Roland broke his last one when he decided to jump up and down on it. And Will can help because he has to owe Killian at least five favors by now. Will always owes him something.

 

Really, he still feels like he owes him for that set-up with Emma, which Will fully admitted to being a set-up last week. It was a bit of vindication even if he already knew that. 

 

But he likes watching the storm, watching the ocean and the people who have taken it upon themselves to wander in the rain to get dinner when it would be so much easier to simply order in like he’s doing. Delivery from Granny’s is by far the most genius business decision that woman has ever come up with even if it’s always a toss up between whether it’s going to be Felix or Ruby delivering the food. Either way, it’s unlikely that he’s not going to be missing a fry or two. They tend to snack on the way here.

 

Every system has its flaws.

 

His doorbell rings, speak of the devil, and he swings his feet to the ground to stand, sliding open his glass door and walking into his apartment and the few feet through the kitchen to the front door. His place isn’t that big, but it’s enough for him to have nearly everything but the bedroom and the bathroom in one area. The view of the ocean is worth it.

 

Looking through the peephole, he sees Ruby standing outside with a red hood from her raincoat perched atop her head, and he unlatches the locks and swings the door open, a smile already on his face from how put out Ruby looks.

 

“Hello, lass.”

 

“I hate you for making me come outside during this weather,” she mumbles, shoving his food in his hand so that he grabs onto the paper bag. “Seriously. Don’t you know how to cook?”

 

“Not as well as your grandmother.” He hooks the bag on his wrist and digs into his back pocket for his wallet, opening it and thumbing through the bills. “It still $12.58?”

 

“And a tip if you want to thank me for my great service.”

 

He smiles to himself and pulls out a twenty, handing it over to Ruby. “Thank you, love.”

 

“It’s my pleasure. You coming to the Nolans’ house tomorrow?”

 

“Is the British man coming to a party to celebrate America’s independence from my home country?”

 

She pops her lips. “Yep.”

 

“Aye,” he laughs in response, shaking his head, “I am. I’ve been here for nearly half a decade, and your holidays are my holidays. Plus, I hear Dave grills a mean steak.”

 

He doesn’t know the Nolans that well despite most of his friends spending time with them, but he feels comfortable enough to go to the party with his brother, Elsa, and their kids. Their first year here they felt so odd not celebrating the holidays that everyone else was celebrating, but in the three years since then, they’ve really embraced it all. Luis and Luca definitely helped with that because all of their school friends celebrated Independence Day and Thanksgiving (bloody hell does he love Thanksgiving), and they’ve integrated themselves into the town ever since. Storybrooke feels like his home as much as Brighton did, and after the initial culture shock of moving countries and time zones to set up their business after retiring from the Navy and needing a change of pace, he enjoys all of the little charming traditions.

 

That first year he’d still been so heartbroken over Milah and her leaving that the fourth of July fireworks could have gone off in his apartment, and he wouldn’t have cared.

 

It’s...different now.

 

“He does. See you tomorrow, Jones. Wear your best patriotic gear.”

 

“I’ll wear my Queen Elizabeth costume. I’ve simply got to find my purse and my corgi.”

 

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “There’s a little surprise in your order, by the way.”

 

At that, she turns around and walks away while he shakes his head from side to side and closes his front door, locking it and turning to place his take out bag on his kitchen counter.

 

He opens his bag to grab his container of lasagna only to see a white napkin with black markings written across it. He guesses that’s the surprise.

 

_In case you spill your lasagna._

_PS: You’re going to have to imagine if my underwear matches because that is something you’re never going to see._

_Your Secret Not Admirer_

He chuckles under his breath at Emma’s note. He knows that’s who it’s from because it echoes his note from after he watched her spill her water on herself at Granny’s. He knew he was being a little cheeky last week when he’d left her the napkin teasing her about spilling her drink and about her wildly mismatched socks (he’s thinking it must be a thing for her to not take the effort to keep pairs of matching socks together) and implying that she did the same with her undergarments, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass it up. He didn’t see her after that, not for the entire week except for the one time he saw her across the street from the office while talking to Marcus, so he figured that he’d kind of pissed her off.

 

It’s a fine line talking to Emma Swan, whether it be risking it by actual conversation or by text. Sometimes he can flirt with no problem, sometimes she even flirts back, but other times he knows that he hits a sore spot that he needs to step back from. She’s a bit of a mystery to him, and she intrigues him. He wants to know more about her, to know her, and about half of the time he kind of thinks that maybe she wants to get to know him too. He knows that she’s against the whole soulmate thing, that she thinks this whole arousal thing between them is idiotic (it is even if he thinks it could have some rather pleasant results), but he’s sure that she can’t deny that they have some kind of connection.

 

Oh he knows that she would, but deep down, she has to feel it too.

 

To feel it past the physical attraction that they obviously both have for each other, weird aroused by each other’s voices thing or not.

 

Or maybe they’ll live a life of sending teasing notes and text messages and riling each other up whenever they’re in the same place and then not doing anything about it.

 

They’re both entirely too good at that even if his feelings of arousal and desire don’t feel quite as intense as they did on that first day. The day out on the boat had been bad, but he thinks a part of it was driven by how little Emma was wearing.

 

God, she’s stunning. Sometimes he still can’t believe that.

 

No matter, though, this is his life, and as confusing as it is, he’s having a damn good time having this little tete-e-tete with Emma.

 

He’s got to figure out how he’s going to respond to this note. But first, he’s going to eat this lasagna because his stomach is rolling nearly as much as the storm outside is.

 

Priorities.

 

* * *

 

“Uncle Killian,” Luca screams when he pulls up to his brother’s house the next afternoon, stopping before he gets to the driveway so that he doesn’t drive over Luca’s chalk drawing. It looks like she’s been out here for at least an hour drawing some kind of mythical forest, and he couldn’t mess that up after all of her hard work out in the sunshine. “Look what I drew.”

 

“That’s beautiful, love,” he smiles, closing his jeep’s door and jogging over to her, sweeping her off of the ground and into his arms as she giggles. She’s almost too big for him to hold her like this, but not yet. He’s going to kill his back to hold his niece, but he doesn’t care. He loves her too much to. “Do you want to tell me all about it?”

 

“Nah,” she sighs, tilting her head back as her legs swing, the girl practically a dead weight. “I’m not finished, so I can’t tell you about it because it’s a secret.”

 

“A secret?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“And you can’t even tell your favorite uncle in the world?”

 

“Mommy said I can’t have a favorite uncle because it’s not fair to Uncle Kris.”

 

He snickers at that, knowing that she loves him more than she loves Kris, but that’s mostly because Kris still lives in England with Anna and not down the road like he does. And maybe it’s because he knows that he’s a hell of an uncle. Lifting Luca a little higher in his arms, he lugs her through the yard and up the front steps of Liam’s porch. Elsa has gone a little crazy with the gardening lately, and there are flowers blooming along the railing and pathway that seem to bring a lot of life to the brick home.

 

But not as much life as Luca and Luis bring.

 

“Hello,” he bellows as he walks into the house, tossing Luca over his shoulder so that she’s hanging upside down, giggles still rolling through her body. “I have found this interesting little creature outside, and I think that someone needs to come and capture her.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Luis yells, running to him from the living room and practically taking him down with the force of his hug.

 

“Hmm, I don’t think you’re big enough.”

 

“I am too.”

 

“I’m taller than you, Luis.”

 

“Only by a little.”

 

“Three whole inches.”

 

“Two and a half.”

 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, ruffling the blonde curls on Luis’s head, “Luis is definitely big enough to help me lug Luca inside because he knows the most important information of all.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“Where is your mummy?”

 

His shoulder starts to ache so he puts Luca on the ground and plops himself down on the living room couch, making sure that he hasn’t gotten anything onto the cream material or onto their rug. Liam and Elsa have two eight-year-olds, but they somehow manage to keep everything inexplicably clean, especially since Liam isn’t as much of a neat freak as he used to be. Personally he thinks this entire house screams Elsa with its shades of blue and white with little bohemian touches everywhere. Honestly, it kind of reminds him of Emma and Belle’s apartment but with furniture that was definitely bought in a set and not found at different stores.

 

“She is putting her makeup on,” Luis tells him as he sits next to him on the couch and goes back to playing whatever video game he’s obsessed with this week. “And Papa is making a cake for the party.”

 

“That sounds good.”

 

“It’s not chocolate, so I don’t like it.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighs, stretching his arm out over the back of the couch and tilting his head to see Elsa coming down the stairs, her steps so light that he almost doesn’t hear them, “I think all cakes are good cakes.”

 

“Amen. My children are simply picky.”

 

“We are not,” the twins protest together, both of their mouths flattening into frowns.

 

“You are,” Elsa insists, stepping behind him on the couch and leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Have you guys been torturing your uncle?”

 

“They have been almost perfectly behaved, but I would like a piece of this cake to make up for it.”

 

“Nobody gets the cake until we are at the party,” Liam shouts from the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping on their conversation.

 

Elsa pats his shoulder sympathetically. “I have a cookie that you can eat to tide you over.”

 

“That’s why I love you.”

 

“And me?” Luca asks.

 

“Of course.”

 

He watches Luis play his game, which is apparently a Lego’s video game that he had no idea existed, for about twenty minutes before Liam announces that his cake is finished and that they can make their way to the Nolans’ house. He really should have driven himself, but he didn’t want to be the guy who was creepily sitting in his car outside of their house while he waited for Liam’s family to show up. Usually he’d march on in to whoever’s house it was, but not really knowing the owners has kind of kept him from that. Plus, he wanted to spend a little time with his niece and nephew because he knows that they’ll run off as soon as they get into the yard.

 

It’s a fifteen-minute drive out to the Nolans’ farm since they live on the outskirts of town, and by the time they get there, there are already cars parked all down the street, lining the gravel road almost as much as the trees are. It’s as beautiful out here as it was the last time he was briefly here for some kind of Christmas party, and he wonders just how David and Mary Margaret seem to host the entire town for a holiday each year.

 

The moment they’re out of the car, just like he expected, Luca and Luis run off to a group of children that are climbing on the treehouse and swing set, leaving he, Liam, and Elsa in their dust. He remembers what it was like to be that young and free in everything, even after his father abandoned him, and the thought of that has him reaching up around his neck to toy with the chain that holds his mother’s ring. His parents’ marriage wasn’t a good one, but the ring was his mum’s and is a memory of hers that he likes to keep resting over his heart.

 

When they walk in the door to the farmhouse, not bothering to knock, it’s a mess of people, everyone practically packed in like sardines. He nearly knocks Tink over when he’s trying to get past the staircase and into the kitchen so that he can place Liam’s cake in there. He doesn’t even know how he ended up with it in his hands, but he somehow did.

 

“What’s that?” Will questions, nearly making him jump out of his skin from surprise.

 

“Some kind of coffee cake Liam made. I’ve been told I can’t have any until we all eat dessert.”

 

“That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

 

“It is.” He places the container down and leans back against the wooden cabinets, the cool marble digging into his waist just above his jeans. “Where’s Belle?”

 

“What? You don’t want to talk to me, so you ask where my girlfriend is? I thought we were mates.”

 

“Nah, I’m just in it for Belle. She has access to every book I’d ever need.”

 

“So does Amazon.”

 

He rolls his eyes and taps his nails against the countertop. “But no, seriously, I wanted to talk to Belle about a field trip idea for next month since she’s still looking for some for the summer programs.”

 

Will nods his head toward the window. “She’s outside with Emma talking to Mary Margaret and David as they grill the burgers. They must have spent a fortune buying the meat. I can’t imagine so many people in one place.”

 

“Me either,” he mumbles, twisting his head to look out the window to see the grill situated at the end of the patio, Mary Margaret standing at it with Emma and Belle next to her. Damn, Emma has on the same jean shorts that she had on when they went out on the water, and he doesn’t think he’s going to survive those again, not if she acts the same. Not even if she doesn’t. He’ll probably have to avoid her at all costs tonight. He can tell that Mary Margaret is the one talking, the way she’s swinging the spatula around pretty obvious, but he knows that Emma isn’t saying anything because he can’t hear her voice. He’s close enough to her to be able to hear her voice, right? That’s how this thing works. “Especially because that big head of yours takes up so much space.”

 

Will lets out a low whistle. “You have spent too much time with Rob if those are the kinds of jokes you’re making.”

 

“He makes a mean dad joke.”

 

“That he does. And, for your information, if there’s any part of me that’s big enough to be taking up too much space in this house, it bloody well isn’t my head.”

 

He doesn’t want to laugh at that, but he does, biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes as he tries to keep from laughing out loud. Sometimes he swears that his humor is that of a teenager, even if he teases Will about that very thing.

 

“Where’d you get the drink?”

 

“They have a cooler of water and beer outside, but I know that Mary Margaret has some lemonade in the fridge and that David has whiskey in the pantry.”

 

He’d really rather have the beer, but he doesn’t want to be near Emma. It’s far too early in the day for him to be sporting an erection, especially when he doesn’t feel comfortable relieving himself in someone else’s home. He’d done it at Ariel’s, but that was a one-time thing. It’s not happening again. The thrill of almost being caught isn’t really there when he’s a gross man masturbating. That just...it’s wrong.

 

And he got caught the last time.

 

Damn, that was awkward and embarrassing, and he has no idea how he’s been able to look Emma in the eyes without melting into the ground or something. Probably because they had a few more pressing issues to deal with that day, and it’s hopefully almost forgotten. 

 

He knows it’ll never be fully forgotten.

 

Changing the weight on his feet, he turns to the side and opens the fridge, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade, freshly cut lemons floating at the top, and pours himself some into a disposable cup, quickly writing his name on it with the marker that was left on the counter. He’s about to put the cap back on the marker when he sees the stack of napkins at the same time that he hears the faintest echo of Emma’s laugh. Scribbling down a note, he decides that maybe it isn’t too early for him to have to suffer from hearing Emma talk. And maybe avoiding her all day isn’t the best plan.

 

It’s certainly not what he really wants.

 

“Where are you going?” Will yells as he opens up the sliding door to their backyard.

 

“Use some common sense and guess.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

He doesn’t even blink at that as he strides across the yard, waving to the few people who wave to him, before he’s standing next to Emma and wrapping his arm around her shoulder so that his hand holding the napkin dangles down onto her biceps. Her feels her tense for a moment, all of her guards obviously going up, before her shoulders relax a bit.

 

Huh. Not what he was expecting.

 

“Hi, Killian,” Mary Margaret greets, a bright, cheery smile on her face. “It’s so nice of you to be able to make it.”

 

Emma groans, something he thinks only he hears, and he pulls her a little closer to his side. He will never get over how undeniably fun it is to bother her. “It’s nice of you to have us all here. I don’t think there could be a more gracious host in Storybrooke.”

 

He watches as Belle’s eyes roll at that before she takes a sip of her water. “Don’t let Killian charm you too much. He’s full of it.”

 

“Oh, love, don’t be jealous that I haven’t complimented you yet. I was getting around to it.”

 

“You spend too much time with Will.”

 

It’s funny how conversations with two different people still end up being similar.

 

“And what does that say about you?”

 

“That I am not as influenced by others as you are.”

 

“This is true,” he sighs, jumping a little when he feels Emma pinch his side under his button down. He was waiting for some kind of retaliation for her since he’s very obviously invading her personal space and talking to annoy her and drive her mad, not that anyone but the two of them knows that. “You are an unshakable force, my dear Belle. So do you need any help with anything, Mary Margaret?”

 

“You’re a guest. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

 

“Oh come on, lass, I’m sure there’s something you need help with. Emma and I would be happy to assist you.”

 

Emma pinches his side again, this time the force another to actually cause him a little pain, and he slides his hand down from her shoulder and deftly puts the napkin in her back pocket. He fully expects her to punch him and knock his teeth out, but he thinks he manages to give it to her without her noticing too much. Maybe she’s too on edge to even notice.

 

“Oh, well,” Mary Margaret says, taking a few of the burgers off the grill and placing them on the tray, “if you two could get all of the side dishes from the kitchen and set them up on the tables out here, that would be great.”

 

“It’s not a problem, milady. Come on, Swan.”

 

He steps to the side and starts making his way back to the house. He doesn’t check to see if Emma is following him. He doesn’t need to because as soon as he gets back inside and into the little alcove between the back door and the kitchen, Emma shoves him and slaps at his chest.

 

“What the hell is wrong to you?”

 

“Whatever could you be talking about?”

 

Her eyes roll in what he believes is her signature move around him now, and he has to suppress his smile at how red her cheeks are and how much of a scowl her lips have formed into. “You’re a jackass. I was in the middle of a conversation, and you come out there and wrap your arm around me and then start talking because you know what happens when you do that!”

 

Gooseflesh rises on his arms, and he tries to regulate his breathing as Emma keeps talking. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it has the potential to get worse.

 

“And what the hell did you put in my pocket?” she huffs, reaching behind her and pulling out the napkin. “‘You’re right. I wouldn’t know what kind of underwear you wore because the only time I’ve ever seen down your shirt you weren’t wearing any.’ You’re ridiculous.”

 

“Never claimed I wasn’t.” He bends down and whispers in her ear, making sure to get close enough that his lips brush skin. “For the reference, mine have a delightful blue and white striped pattern today.”

 

“J-just get the damn side dishes,” she stutters, her voice visibly catching.

 

“As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the fourth of July chapter also carries on over to the next chapter, and that's because some more pretty fun things may be happening! ❤️


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise super early update! I hope you enjoy it ❤️

“Why are you sweating?”

 

“Because it’s hot.”

 

“Not that hot.”

 

“You’re pregnant, A. Your hormones are all messed up, so I don’t trust your temperature gauge.”

 

Ariel groans next to her and sinks down further on the swing they’re sitting on in Mary Margaret and David’s backyard. Their house is like some kind of weird farm paradise, and Emma loves being out here when she needs to relax. This fourth of July party has not turned out to be relaxing in the slightest.

 

That’s really not a shocker considering that crazy shit seems to happen on this day every year. Give people a few beers and the promise of lights exploding in the sky and all of the sudden they forget that today isn’t some bubble that doesn’t extend to tomorrow. There are always consequences to actions.

 

“Babe, doesn’t Emma look flushed to you?”

 

She hides her face behind her hands as Eric looks at her, seemingly peering into her soul while he tries to see if her face looks flushed. It does. It’s kind of hot and humid outside, and she’s honestly still a little hot and bothered by Killian from earlier. Damn him. Seriously damn him for purposefully riling her up in front of all of these people where she can’t sneak away and go hide in a corner somewhere while she calms herself down. One day the two of them are going to explode at each other, and she’s terrified to think about the consequences.

 

Because yet again, she seems to be the only one thinking about consequences.

 

It’s all fun and games until someone talks too much, and she fucks the absolute last person she wants to fuck.

 

No, wait, scratch that. Killian is not the last person. There are several people on that list way ahead of him, but for the emotional repercussions, she is not sleeping with him.

 

She is not sleeping with her soulmate.

 

(She is not sleeping with anyone.)

 

Even if she finds him funny and charming and very possibly nice. But that’s how every man is at the beginning, and she’s not falling for it again, predestined or not.

 

They can talk (kind of) and be in the same place, but she’s not dating him.

 

And she really needs him to stop messing with her, at least for today. It’s fine when they’re passing each other notes through food - even if his notes are obnoxious - or when they’re both riling each other up while they’re submerged in the water with a few people around, but when she’s got every single person she knows within a ten foot radius, Killian messing with her is not an ideal situation.

 

Two can play at the game and all that, but sometimes she’s simply not in the mood.

 

Today is one of those days.

 

“She does look a little red. You feeling okay?”

 

“Besides the fact that I’m on this swing with you guys while you treat me like I’m your child, I’m fine.”

 

“Fine is never fine.”

 

“You have got to stop saying that,” she sighs, leaning her head over on Ariel’s shoulder, fully embracing her role as their adult child, which kind of seems like it’s an oxymoron. It also kind of seems like it simply describes a hell of a lot of men she knows. “Sometimes fine is fine.”

 

“You sure? I know today isn’t a very fun day for you.”

 

Of course Ariel remembers. How could she not? She knows all even when Emma doesn’t tell her. Some kind of red-headed oracle.

 

“I’m just glad he’s not here. It would be a very Walsh move to show up at the Nolans’ party knowing that I’m here. He was such a dick.”

 

“The biggest dick.”

 

“Second biggest dick, but he definitely didn’t have the second biggest dick if you know what I mean.”

 

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here for this conversation,” Eric groans while she and Ariel laugh a bit. Maybe she is an adult child if she’s laughing at small dick jokes. Maybe some people deserve to have small dick jokes made about them.

 

“Don’t worry, hon,” Ariel placates, patting her husband’s thigh, “we won’t scar you by informing you that other men also have penises. I know that must be shocking for you.”

 

“I have got to stop spending time with the two of you together.”

 

“Please,” she scoffs, blindly reaching over Ariel’s shoulder until she finds Eric’s, “you married one of us and knocked her up, so I’d say that bodes pretty well for how much you love us.”

 

“Or how much I love my wife.”

 

“Well, we’re a packaged deal, Fisher. A two for one.”

 

“What about Belle?”

 

“Oh you’re right. We come in a pack of three.”

 

“That could be both terrifying and incredibly arousing.”

 

“Hey,” Ariel groans, sitting up so that Emma’s head falls a bit off of her shoulder and onto the wood of the swing.

 

“What? If you can point out that other men have dicks, I can point out that your friends are capable of sex. I’d punch Walsh if he showed up here, by the way,” he adds on, almost making her forget how much she never wants to think about Eric thinking about her having sex again. If she had a dad, that would almost be like her dad thinking about her having sex. Then again, Ariel has definitely shared her sex life with Emma, and this all gets more disturbing the longer she’s left alone with her thoughts. “He was an idiot to ever think he could do better than you.”

 

Technically he could with his soulmate, but she’s not going to think about that. It’s not like he cheated on her with his soulmate or anything, not that it would have made the situation any better. It’s kind of a shit move to date someone knowing that they’re not your soulmate and then cheating on them with your actual soulmate instead of simply telling your partner that you want to break up. It happens all the damn time, and it’s like people have forgotten basic decency.

 

Walsh definitely had. They’d been dating since last January, and on the fourth of July last year she’d found him sleeping with this red-headed woman in Mary Margaret’s guest bedroom in the middle of this party. Apparently, it had been going on for two or three months, which was nearly half of their relationship, and he had the gall to cheat on her at one of her best friend’s houses during a holiday party with everyone in town just a few feet away. She didn’t even want to come today, the memories of it leading her down a dark path that inevitably always leads to Neal, but Belle had dragged her out of her bedroom and told her that they were coming to this party no matter what.

 

And it’s been fine. No one has mentioned last year, not even Leroy. At least yet. His mouth tends to get a little looser when he’s had too much to drink, but she hopes that being at a party with every cop in town will keep him in line.

 

She’s just going to avoid the guest bedroom at all costs. She won’t even sleep in there when she stays over. She’ll sleep on the couch or the bottom bunk in Leo’s bedroom.

 

But anything to avoid the guest bedroom.

 

Even if she really needed to go release some tension earlier when Killian was messing with her. She’d nearly dropped the coleslaw her legs were so shaky when they were putting the side dishes out. She’s glad that Elsa came by with Luca trailing right behind her because if Luca, who is so obviously in awe of her uncle, hadn’t been there, she would have very gladly told him to fuck off.

 

On another day she’ll give him a snarky napkin note like they’ve been doing, but she doesn’t feel like it right now. She doesn’t have the sass or sarcasm in her.

 

“Thank you,” she finally tells Eric, not knowing what else to say. “Is the sun ever going to set or are we going to be out here in this hot misery forever?”

 

“I think we might be out here forever. I need to pee.”

 

Ariel gets up off of the swing and wipes her hands against her dress, the curve of her stomach more obvious today than it’s ever been, and excuses herself to head inside while Eric does the same, claiming that he needs another beer. She could go for some of the whiskey that David keeps in the kitchen on the top shelf that she can’t get to without using a chair to step up on. She knows it’s so their six-year-old doesn’t accidentally get into it, but a part of her thinks that it’s so that she doesn’t get into it either.

 

Jokes on him because she’s smart enough to be able to get to it all.

 

Not that she’s going to. Instead she gets up from the swing and follows Ariel and Eric to the main part of the backyard where everyone is milling around. She grabs another bottle of water from the cooler and makes her way around the yard, speaking to everyone she knows...which unfortunately is everyone. When she was a deputy, she spent nearly every day talking to the people in town, and even though she still does that, her promotion which is only really half of a promotion even with the title change and pay raise, it’s not as much as it used to be. There could be new people in their little circle of friends, and she could have no idea.

 

Or she could have an idea and simply not see the people.

 

Killian is a great example of that.

 

She hates that she’s so drawn to him. It’s like he’s a flame when it’s dark outside, and she’s a damn bug heading toward the brightness and warmth of the light. That’s the worst metaphor she’s ever made (even if her car is a bug), but there’s a reason she was never an English major and wouldn’t have been if she had gone to college. It’s not her thing. She’s drawn to him. She knows why. It’s pretty much inevitable that she would be, but she’s never been one for sure things.

 

The inevitable doesn’t always have to be that way. She’s never been a fan of following the rules even if her occupation says otherwise.

 

She glances up and sees Killian sitting with his feet in the pool, his legs hanging over the edge of the water, and tossing an inflated ball back and forth between Leo, Luis, and Luca.

 

(Ariel better name her kid with something with a name other than an “L” because that is far too much for her to have to keep up with.)

 

She can hear the murmurings of his voice over all of the people between them, but it’s muted, barely a whisper above the crowd. It’s not usually like that, and she wonders just how loud it is here for her to not be able to hear him clearly when they’re within twenty feet of each other. She’s never tested out the range, but she thinks that’s a pretty good estimate.

 

He seems relaxed, carefree, and she bets that no part of him cares that he’s getting water all over his button up as the kids splash him. How in the world did he even end up over there when there are so many better things to be doing? Then again, she’s the one sitting on top of a portable cooler staring at him and working on her second bottle of water this hour, so it’s not like she’s got a lot of room to say anything.

 

He looks really good in that light blue shirt, and his hair has gotten a little longer so that these few pieces more prominently hang over his forehead even though the sides are pretty tightly cut. She likes it more than she’s willing to admit, and she bets it’d be soft to run her hands through.

 

Not that she’ll ever know the answer to that query.

 

“Whatcha staring at, kid?”

 

“You’re five years older than me,” she sighs, scooting over so David can have some room on the cooler as well, the hair on his leg brushing up against her thigh.

 

“Ah,” David groans, reaching over and taking her water from her before he takes a sip, “but I feel a solid two decades older than you some days because you often act like Leo. I mean, you sure as hell eat like him.”

 

“You’re always complaining about my food, but you’re always eating it. I mean, you ate half of that bread basket before I took it home.”

 

“What can I say? Killian knows how to pick out some pastries.”

 

That saying about jaws dropping and hitting the floor feels pretty apt right now as her jaw opens a little, her lips parting, and she kind of feels like she’s just been hit in the face by the ball Killian and the kids are tossing around. How in the world would he know that? There was no name on the note, and she made a point not to tell him. There was a whole thing. She knows. She remembers.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“You may be able to tell when others are lying, but you are the worst liar.”

 

“I am not.”

 

“You’re as bad as Leo,” David chuckles, knocking his shoulder into hers at the same time that she watches Killian throw his head back, laughter shaking his shoulders and his stomach moving. She can hear it a little more loudly this time, but she imagines that it’s because she’s trying to focus on anything other than David right now. “And Mr. French told me who sent the basket when I complimented him on the blueberry muffins. He went on and on about how Killian Jones bought out the entire bakery for that basket and how he must really like you.”

 

She’d like to go back to the swing with Ariel and Eric right now and die from the heat. That would be preferable to this.

 

Hell, maybe she’ll strip out of her clothes and streak through the yard so someone will have to arrest her and put her in jail for the night. That, too, would be preferable to this.

 

“It’s not what it looks like,” she sighs, wishing that she hadn’t left her phone inside to charge so she’d have something to fiddle with.

 

“What? You and Killian aren’t in some kind of secret relationship where he woos you with bread?”

 

“No, though I think all people should be wooed with bread or food. Forget jewelry. Food is the new romantic gift.”

 

“So you were wooed by the pastries?”

 

“I was not wooed,” she huffs, hitting her knuckles against his knee while she watches Mary Margaret walk around and offer everyone dessert. The woman really never stops. It’s insane. They should probably get up and help. “I’d like to make that very clear. Killian Jones is not wooing me or flirting with me or courting me. Killian Jones is doing nothing to me.”

 

Though she has dreamed otherwise.

 

Dammit.

 

“He’s staring at you right now.”

 

Her eyes find Killian’s across the yard. He could have stared at her this entire time, and she wouldn’t have cared as long as he wasn’t staring at her while David was paying attention. Their timing is just fantastic.

 

“I - I don’t…” she stutters, the heat on her cheeks rising again as her tongue seems to twist itself inside of her mouth, keeping her from forming coherent words. That probably stems from the fact that she can’t seem to form coherent thoughts, so maybe her brain is all twisted up too. That doesn’t seem quite right, but what does she know? “He’s like a friend.”

 

“So a friend?”

 

“No, _like_  a friend. It’s different.”

 

“How the hell does that make any sense?”

 

“It’s,” she starts again, waving her hands around. “We are friendly to each other, but we are not actively friends. Like, we poke fun and tease at each other, but there are some mitigating issues that keep us from actually being friends.”

 

“Like the fact that you very obviously have feelings for the man.”

 

“Feelings of annoyance? Yes.”

 

“Feelings of appreciation, maybe. You know, Emma, it’s not a bad thing to have feelings for someone.”

 

“It hasn’t seemed to work that way in the past. You remember last year.”

 

“I had to burn my sheets. Of course I remember.”

 

She laughs a little and adjusts herself on the cooler, tapping her fingers against her own knee and wondering if she can wear jeans for the next week so that she doesn’t have to shave. It’s probably too hot for that, but this is summer in Maine. Tomorrow she could walk out of her apartment having to wear her jacket.

 

“I don’t...when I say it’s complicated with him, I really do mean it. It’s not like how you and Mary Margaret are. You guys have got some genuine love, even if it does make me want to vomit sometimes, and I think I’m biologically programmed not to have that.”

 

David’s arm wraps around her shoulder, and he pulls her into her side so that his lips can brush against her temple. Such a dad. “You have genuine love in your life. There are a lot of people who love you, and you have to know that. And maybe if there is someone out there who makes you smile or makes you laugh, soulmate or not, that could be some genuine love too. Not all love burns up and dies.”

 

“Can we talk about something else?” she deflects, her eyes trained on a few blades of grass that are not quite as green as the rest of the yard. Her heart is practically in her stomach at this point, and she would do anything not to think about relationships or her past or the man that’s sitting with his legs dangling in the pool.

 

“Sure,” David agrees. “I have just been itching to have someone to talk to about the propane tanks on the grill.”

 

“Oh my gosh.”

 

David does talk about his propane tanks for a little while, boring her to death, but he eventually moves on to the Yankees game last night and to some big philosophy talk on why baseball and sport in general is so important to the general population. It’s not at all what she was expecting, but it kind of cracks her up as David rambles on. He’s obviously had a few beers today, which is only a little worrisome since he’s in charge of lighting the fireworks tonight. Working with explosives seems like something only sober people should do.

 

It very rarely is.

 

As the sun starts to fully set, darkness finally beginning to cover the sky, she excuses herself from the party, grabbing a bottle of beer and climbing up the ladder to Leo’s treehouse. This has to be the best place to view the fireworks from, and she’s surprised that no one else ever comes up here to watch. It’s a bit of a loner habit of hers, not that she’s lacking in those, and as she stands against the open window with her elbows propped on the wood, she watches all of her friends move around the backyard, everyone that was inside relishing in the air conditioning coming outside, Wilby nipping at the heels probably looking for scraps.

 

Ariel and Eric have found their way back to the swing, the two of them chatting with each other, and she sees Belle and Will sitting at a table with Robin and Regina. Roland must have been with his mom for the first half of the party because he’s now here and running around with the rest of the kids, all of them still in their swimsuits. If only she could have that much energy. That would be worth piles of gold. Ruby is being predictably Ruby, standing at the center of a crowd making everyone laugh. She can practically see Elsa’s blush from here, and when she sees Liam standing with his arm over his wife’s shoulder, she realizes that someone is missing from the crowd.

 

“See anything interesting?” Killian asks from behind her, her skin breaking out into bumps at the sound of his voice.

 

Of course he’s up here.

 

She doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t necessarily dislike it either, which pretty much sums up a lot of things about her life.

 

She simply grunts in response, not feeling like talking or causing the two of them any issues. No part of her will ever be over this part of her life, and she wonders if this will ever get better, if it’ll ever be possible to be in the same room as Killian without being driven crazy.

 

(Like, if this is what the universe wants for the two of them, does it expect for them to never have any kind of meaningful conversation? She still doesn’t understand that part.)

 

She wonders if she wants that.

 

Mostly she wonders why she wants that.

 

And when Killian comes to stand next to her, the scent of sweat and chlorine obvious on him, she laughs when he puts down a notepad between them, a pen resting on top of it. Twisting her head to side, she sees that his lips are curved into a smirk, the right side higher than the left, and the same goes for his eyebrows, one practically in his hairline. That’s definitely his signature move. He nods down at the notepad, and her gaze finds the words written there.

 

**I’m sorry that I’m an asshole and was messing with you earlier.**

 

She puts her beer down and picks up the pen, scribbling on the paper.

 

_It’s okay._

 

**You didn’t seem okay.**

 

_Bad day._

 

**Want to talk about it?**

**Or, write about it.**

_Independence Day is also the day that my last boyfriend took independence from me and cheated on me. At this party._

She has no idea why she wrote that, and if she had an eraser, she’d get rid of the evidence. But she doesn’t.

 

**I’m sorry. He sounds like a wanker.**

_He is. Your brother is a sloppy drinker._

She hears Killian’s chuckle, and twists her head to look up at him and his smile again.

 

**A bloody lightweight. It’s fun to get him drunk. He talks out of his ass and is genuinely funny for once in his life.**

****

_Oh I don’t know. I think he’s the funniest Jones brother._

**That’s because you haven’t really been truly humored by me yet.**

 

_Your face does make me laugh._

 

**Because you can’t handle its beauty?**

She should have known that joke was coming with him, and she should have the strength to resist laughing at it, but she can’t help herself. She snickers, the sound passing through her lips, and she realizes that she feels lighter than she has all day even with the air getting heavier around her, the humidity increasing as the night goes on with the threat of more thunderstorms the next day. The fact that today was sunny still surprises her.

 

Killian winks when he sees her smiling, and she leans back to put a little more space between them. That wink doesn’t make her stomach feel some type of way at all.

 

“What?” he speaks aloud as he leans back again, resting his shoulder against the treehouse wall.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“If you’re sure.”

 

She’s not sure. Really, no part of her is sure about anything. But she’s kind of feeling good right now, feeling like maybe today isn’t all bad despite all of those lingering feelings and everyone bringing up her relationship status today and making her think about her past. The first boy she ever kissed was named Blake, and he was about as average in his name as he was in kissing. She’s sure that he’s gotten better, that he’s improved since they were fourteen, but she’ll always have the memory of that sloppy mess.

 

The first boy she ever loved, though, was Neal Cassidy. She was seventeen, and he was a little older. Looking back she realizes that a twenty-three-year-old should not have been dating a seventeen-year-old, but for the first time in her life, she felt loved and secure and happy that someone wanted to be her. Who she was then is not who she is now, and whether she likes it or not, a lot of that is because of Neal. He was adventurous and charming, always talking her into doing just about anything, and they dated for a little under three years.

 

He was...she loved him, and he thought that she was perfect. That’s something that he was always calling her, and now, when she hears the word, it sends chills down her spine. He called her perfect and wonderful and he made her believe that she was this person who he treasured being with. And then she peed on a stick and the word “pregnant” popped up, and suddenly that one word made every other kind word that Neal called her be replaced with things like “irresponsible” and “loose” and a “slut.” He was the only person she’d ever slept with, and he was calling her a slut.

 

Not that sleeping around makes anyone a slut. She’d just...that’s how Neal made her feel.

 

She wasn’t pregnant, though.

 

That’s the real kicker of the whole thing. There she was almost twenty years old taking a pregnancy test and thinking she was going to have a baby with the guy she loved only for him to lose his mind and scare her to the point that she didn’t feel safe. That night he packed a bag and left, for Tallahassee where his father lived, he’d said. He was running away, he was leaving, and he was abandoning her.

 

She thought he was her family, that they were making a family together, and he abandoned her.

 

Just like everyone else.

 

She’d say that her baby abandoned her, but there was never any baby. It was a cheap test, a false positive, and to this day she still hates to admit that she’s upset that she wasn’t pregnant, that she didn’t get to have a family of her own for once in her life. She knows how naive she was about it all, especially because Neal convinced her that they were soulmates because they didn’t have obvious signs.

 

Especially since her probable, actual soulmate is currently standing in front of her with pretty blue eyes and a kind smile that seems to happen whenever he makes her laugh.

 

Even when he frustrates her, he makes her feel good in a way that she hasn’t felt in awhile, and maybe she deserves to do something reckless for once. It’s been a long time, since she lived in Boston and before the police academy really, and she wants to feel good.

 

“You know, Swan, most of the time when women look at me like you’re looking at me, I get to know if their undergarments match. But you did say that I’ll never know that about you, and I guess I’ll have to be okay with that. I do have a vivid imagination.”

 

Cheeky asshole.

 

Why in the world is she charmed by his flirting?

 

She hesitates, not entirely sure if she wants this, but he’s been driving her crazy since April and she wants to know. She wants to know just what it would be like to steal the words from Killian’s lips, to make him stop talking and actually act on his words, but mostly she wants to take advantage of the fact that she is so turned on right now that she can’t think of anything other than Killian’s lips on hers.

 

Stepping forward, the wood of Leo’s treehouse creaking underneath her footstep, she grabs onto the collar of his shirt and slams her lips into his. It takes a moment for him to kiss back, which makes sense for how out of nowhere this must seem, but before she can think about it too much, his right hand is threading into her hair, twisting her head so that his lips can wrap around her upper lip, and his left hand is falling down to rest at her waist, nearly palming her ass. He tugs her closer, their bodies completely pressed up against each other, and she groans at the same time Killian does, his hardening length pressing into her hip through his jeans. Everything about Killian’s kiss is desperate, hurried, and she can’t get enough. There’s never going to be enough of this, and even though his lips are only on hers, she wears she can feel them on every inch of her skin.

 

She swears that she is on fire right now, and she wouldn’t mind going down in the flames.

 

When Killian’s tongue teases at the seam of her lips, she doesn’t hesitate before opening her mouth to his, letting their tongues tangle together in a slick, wet slide that has tiny fireworks exploding over her flesh and making every thought except _more_ escape from her mind. She wants more of the warmth of his body, more of the softness or his lips, and more of the rough scratch of his beard against her skin.

 

She wants more of him.

 

There is nothing else, no one else, and as Killian’s hand firmly becomes planted on her ass and her fingers wander to his hair, finally feeling just how soft the strands are, all she can feel is him.

 

And all she can see behind her closed eyes are bright blue lights exploding into the sky and bringing her out of the darkness.

 

But then there’s a boom, a rather large one in fact, and she startles back when she realizes that it’s not one of the metaphorical fireworks that she can still feel flickering across her skin, especially on her chin where Killian’s scruff is rubbing into her. It’s a very real, very bright firework that she watches explode in the air through the window of the treehouse all the while her forehead still rests against Killian’s, their breaths intermingling.

 

He tasted kind of like rum, and she wonders where he found that.

 

It’s like everything comes back to her as blue and green sparks explode against the inky midnight blue of the sky, and she knows the light warm air in the sky will evaporate the moment her body is no longer pressed up against Killian’s, the heavy humidity enveloping her. But she moves back anyway, their hips no longer pressed together even as their foreheads stay the same.

 

“That was - “

 

“A one time thing,” she gasps, letting her hands fall from his hair and her feet step away, nearly tripping in the dip in the wood. She shouldn’t have done that. They shouldn’t have done that. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She’s not supposed to fall for him, and she tells herself that she’s not, that it’s simply because the universe is tricking them into it. She doesn’t care.

 

She’s emotional today and he was talking and he knows how to charm her. It’s...she doesn’t care, and all of her earlier thoughts about caring for him were lies.

 

(She can’t get hurt again.)

 

But that can’t explain why she can’t look Killian in the eye and why she has to look toward the ladder, her focus completely on getting away. “Stay up here for awhile,” she whispers, ignoring the swell of her lips as she moves toward the ladder. “I’m going inside. Don’t...don’t follow me.”

 

She doesn’t listen to see if he answers or replies, to see if he calls out to her, because she can’t hear a damn thing over the loud thumping of her heart as it pounds between her ears, decidedly not where it’s supposed to be. But as she’s climbing down the ladder, her legs nearly falling out beneath her for how unsteady they are, she hears another “as you wish” followed by the loud boom of a firework.

 

Only this time, there’s no light exploding into the sky.


	9. Chapter Nine

“What are you doing?”

 

“Working.”

 

“On what?”

 

“The same thing that I do every day. My bloody job.”

 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Ariel breathes out on a frustrated sigh, holding her hands up as she plops herself down on the corner of his desk, her stomach coming into view before anything else. He looks at her stomach far too much, but it always seems to be what she puts in his eye line. “Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?”

 

“That’s a disgusting phrase,” he groans, placing his pen in its spot in the holder before leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands over his face to work out some of the heaviness that he feels there, that he feels all over. A spark flies between his fingertips and his beard, and he nearly yells out in frustration. But that would be too much, too dramatic, and he doesn’t want to give Ariel the satisfaction. “Who even came up with that?”

 

“Whatever cereal company it is that competes with Cheerios. They’re trying to taint the name.”

 

“Sounds like a brilliant plan.”

 

“Mhm,” she hums, reaching forward and tapping his shoulder until he opens his eyes and his hands fall down to his thighs. “Seriously, though. You okay? You’ve been even more grumpy than usual.”

 

Flashing her a smile, one that he knows is insincere and that she will too, he tries to be “less grumpy.” He personally doesn’t think that he’s grumpy. He thinks that the sun is basically shining out of his ass right now.

 

“How would you like me to be more pleasant, A? What can I do for you?”

 

Her right brow raises at the same time that her shoulder does, a pretty uncaring half shrug. “Maybe lose the creepy fake smile. It makes you look smug.” He nods his head and lets his lips fall, raising a leg to cross it over his knee under his desk. “And I want you to take me out to lunch today.”

 

“There it is,” he laughs, this one genuine as his eyes shift to the clock on his wall and the hand indicating that it’s a little before one. “Shall we go to your husband’s restaurant down the street or do you have somewhere else in mind? I’ll let the lady pick.”

 

“And they say chivalry is dead.” She slowly stands from the desk, smoothing out her kelly green pants and her blouse. “I want to go to that deli with the good sandwiches. You know the one that makes that - ”

 

“I know the one.”

 

He stands from his chair, adjusting his own suit pants, and lets Ariel hook her arm into his as he guides her out of the office, shouting down the hallway to tell Liam that he’ll be back in an hour, maybe an hour and a half only for Ariel to shout that they’ll be gone for at least two hours. That is definitely not happening when he got an unexpected redesign job this morning, but he can already see Ariel trying to weasel her way into it as they walk two blocks over to Delano’s Kitchen. It’s usually pretty quiet there, not too much foot traffic moving through the small deli, so he and Ariel buy their meals and settle down outside under the yellow and white striped umbrellas. Storybrooke can be such an idyllic little town sometimes with its bright colors and preppy storefronts, and it’s usually a pleasant place to be, especially outside in the summers when the temperature is just right.

 

Today is one of those days, but he’s having a bit of trouble focusing on the gentle breeze that is blowing through his hair or the sunshine that’s being blocked by the shades of his sunglasses. If he’s honest, he’s mostly having issues focusing on what Ariel is saying, which is something he’s most definitely not proud of. She wanted to go to lunch with him today, wanted for them to spend some time together, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t listen to her and engage in conversation with her.

 

But with every sip of water that passes through his lips he can feel Emma’s mouth on his, warm and pliant lips harshly devouring his and making the flesh on his arms and the back of his neck break out into hives. He’s wondered how she would kiss for months now, has thought about it whenever he thinks about her, but absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the actuality of it all. It was...bloody magnificent. He’s kissed many a woman in his time, had many very solid make out sessions in his thirty-five years, but this was decidedly different.

 

And a hell of a lot better.

 

God, she’s just...she’s amazing. She made him feel alive, like the fireworks that were exploding around them two weeks ago were exploding across his skin and down his spine to his groin instead of in the air in the Nolan’s backyard. But then she’d stepped away, said it was a one-time thing, and climbed out of the treehouse.

 

He kissed his soulmate for the first time in a six-year-old’s treehouse with fireworks exploding around them.

 

What the hell is his life?

 

He’d kissed Emma, or Emma kissed him really, and with the feel of her lips still on his and her scent mixing in with his clothes, he watched her run across the yard and into the house away from where everyone was standing on the balcony watching David light the fireworks with help from Robin. Emma told him to wait five minutes before following her, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t go anywhere. He couldn’t breathe.

 

For every inkling of affection and feelings that he’s developed for Emma since they met, that was the first time that he was sure of it all. He was sure that they could be something, that they could have something real and true. It was the first time that he thought that he could most definitely move on from Milah, from his last love. He’s mourned her and loved her for years, and he never thought he could love someone again. He doesn’t love Emma, but the beginnings are there.

 

He could love her.

 

He wants to. That’s thinking much too far ahead, but he tends to do that.

 

They match up well. The universe tells them so, but he doesn’t care about any of that stuff. Emma says she doesn’t care, but she very obviously cares too much. She cares enough to defy whoever it is that makes the world this way, but there’s no way that she can deny the very real something between them.

 

And not the fact that they both want to fuck each other the more they talk to each other.

 

But it’s Emma. He doesn’t know how she’s been hurt, but he knows that she has. Something, more likely someone, has scarred her pretty badly, and that’s why she ran away from him after kissing him. She made the first move and obviously got spooked during it. He has this small, inane hope that she was spooked because she’s scared of the possibilities, of the future, but he doesn’t know.

 

He can’t know.

 

It’s not like he’s spoken to her since.

 

Or texted her. Or written her a note.

 

They’ve had absolutely zero communication despite him seeing her around town at least ten times in the past fourteen days.

 

Despite him seeing her across the street at Mr. French’s bakery right now.

 

This town needs to be much larger. And preferably soon.

 

She’s dressed in jeans and a simple white button down with sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, and her badge clipped on her belt loops like it always is. David is with her, the two of them standing together in front of the counter, and he has to keep from staring at her for too long before she notices. Or even worse, before Ariel notices.

 

The absolute last thing he wants is for Ariel to know that he is undeniably pining over Emma Swan. The woman is all about love and pushing him into love, and he doesn’t need the extra push and encouragement from somewhere else right now.

 

Damn, he wishes he could talk to Emma right now about their kiss and their....friendship.

 

It’s a friendship, right? It has to be.

 

“Can I have some of your cantaloupe?” Ariel asks even as her fork spears one and she’s taking it off of his plate.

 

“Why do you even ask?” he chuckles, turning his attention away from Emma and from David to look at Ariel. “I mean, you know I’m not going to say no, and it’s not as if you waited for my answer anyways.”

 

She pops the fruit into her mouth as her shoulders shrug. “It’s the polite thing to do. Eric is always complaining about how I steal food from him, but he does the same thing to me.”

 

“Liam does that. He just leans over and takes food away. It’s usually the food I’m saving for last too.”

 

“That’s the actual worst. You don’t mess with someone’s food.” He raises a brow at that, not even needing to really respond with words. Ariel smiles and shrugs again. “I’m pregnant.”

 

“Is that going to be your excuse until you have the baby?”

 

“Yep. And afterward, it’s going to be that I just had a baby. And then later it’s going to be that I have a baby at home who exhausts me. So you pretty much have to give me all of your food forever now.”

 

He hums, grabbing a grape. “This will be the last time I take you out to eat then.”

 

“No part of that is true. I - oh look, there’s Emma and David. Emma,” Ariel shouts. He sinks down in his chair, wishing that he could disappear right now. Why did he not think of this earlier? Of course Ariel is going to call them over.

 

David quickly jogs across the street, but he watches as Emma debates it, looking around them and digging into her bag to pull out a cookie before she slowly walks toward them, pretty much stuffing the cookie in her mouth all at once.

 

“Hey,” David says when he gets to their table, leaning against the adjacent table while Emma does the same, her eyes glancing anyone but to his before she puts on a pair of sunglasses, “how are the two of you?”

 

“Great. Killian’s buying me lunch.”

 

“Not that Ariel’s given me much of a choice.”

 

“It’s the least I can do for all of the hard work that I do for you.”

 

“Do you mean your job?”

 

“Hush.” Ariel reaches over to grab some more of his fruit, and he takes a moment to see if Emma is still turned away from him. Her presence is making his body heat and his heart ache. He wants to talk to her. Or text her or leave a bloody message on a napkin again to ask why the hell she kissed him and then ran away. “Emma, do you want to come by on Saturday to catch up on Billion Dollar Wreck? Eric is itching to watch, and I told him we had to wait for you.”

 

“I bloody love that show,” he blurts out, unable to stop himself. Three heads turn toward him, and he makes an effort to keep his lips straight as he looks at Ariel.

 

“Oh that’s right,” Ariel sighs, motioning between the two of them, “you’re a History Channel buff too. Emma and I love it. Killian, you should come over on Saturday.”

 

“No,” Emma says. “I mean, I don’t think I can come over on Saturday.”

 

“What other plans do you have?”

 

“She doesn’t have any,” David fills in only for Emma to punch his bicep. It should sting because she’s trying to stay away from him, but he honestly finds it amusing. “She was just talking about how she was going to spend all of Saturday on her couch in her pajamas.”

 

“Those are plans.”

 

“Oh come on,” Ariel pleads, “it’ll be so much fun. You can wear your pajamas. I’ll get snacks, and it’ll be just like at home except you get to spend time with me.”

 

Emma groans, the sound probably only audible to him, and he realizes that her words haven’t really affected him today. She hasn’t spoken much, but there’s only been the slightest stirring. That’s...odd. It’s odd, but he’s not going to complain about it.

 

“Fine but next weekend you’re going to let me spend the weekend holed up alone in the apartment where no one can bother me.”

 

“You have a roommate.”

 

“She spends her weekends at Will’s most of the time.”

 

“Perfect.” Ariel claps her hands. “You guys can come over around noon. I’ll get Eric to make lunch.”

 

“I think that sounds like a great idea, don’t you, Emma?”

 

She finally looks at him, and even though he can’t see her eyes, he knows that they’re shooting daggers at him. The scowl that’s painted on her lips helps him realize that. Maybe Ariel calling them over here isn’t the worst thing in the world even if Saturday is most likely going to be a disaster.

 

“It sounds like it’s going to be the best day of my life,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm before she angles her body away from him. “A, I’ll call you later, okay? David and I have to get back to work. Make sure Killian buys you some kind of dessert too. I think you deserve it for having to work with him all day.”

 

A chill runs down his spine, slowly spreading over his body, but mostly he smiles. At least she doesn’t seem to totally hate him. But it wouldn’t be a complete surprise to him if she didn’t show up on Saturday. It would actually be what he expects.

 

“I do enjoy sweet things, darling,” he tells Emma, punctuating his words with a flick of his tongue across his bottom lip that has her cheeks flushing red.

 

Emma nods her head and walks away, her ass looking absolutely fantastic in her jeans, while David says more polite goodbyes. He probably could have been nicer, teased her less, but he seems to not be able to help himself when it comes to Emma. Maybe it’s a side effect of their...predicament. Maybe it’s simply what she brings out in him.

 

* * *

 

 “Hey, Max,” he laughs when he opens the front door of Ariel and Eric’s house Saturday morning, stepping into their entryway and rubbing his hand behind the thick hair at Max’s ears. “Hey, boy. Oh I’ve missed you. Do you want a cracker? I bet I can sneak a cracker out of your mummy’s pantry.”

 

“I heard that,” Eric yells, and Killian glances up to see him rounding the corner of the living room. He’s still dressed in his pajamas, and that makes Killian feel a little better about only wearing his gray joggers and a t-shirt from last year’s summer regatta. “Just let yourself in why don’t you.”

 

“I mean, you did leave the door unlocked.”

 

“That’s beside the point.”

 

He rolls his eyes a bit before stepping forward and patting Eric’s back in greeting so that he can bypass him to head into the kitchen to get Max his crackers. It’s the oddest thing, but he’s obsessed with saltines, and if Kilian has to bribe the dog to get him to like him, he has no qualms about that.

 

“Where’s Ariel?” he questions, opening their pantry and scanning for the food.

 

“In the shower. She didn’t feel great this morning, so she slept in a bit.”

 

“Is she okay? Do we need to cancel today?”

 

“She’s okay. And if we cancel, she’ll absolutely have my head. She’s been talking about you guys coming over for days.” He finds the crackers in the cabinet and opens up a plastic sleeve before grabbing two and turning around to hand them to an eagerly awaiting Max, his pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. “And I keep having to run to the store to get food since she’s constantly changing her mind on that.”

 

“So what are we eating?”

 

“Ariel decided on pizza, but not the kind we can get delivered. Homemade individual ones. It’s quite the show for us to be sitting around in our sweats.”

 

“Pizza is great, babe,” Ariel sighs as she walks into the room in a pair of leggings and sweater with a towel wrapped around her hair. “And my taste buds are changing because of your demon child. The least you can do is spend all of our savings on food.”

 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eric smiles, reaching his arm out to Ariel to wrap it around her shoulder and pull her into his side so that he can kiss her temple and whisper something in her ear that makes her giggle. A flash of jealousy runs through him at how happy they are, at how much goodness they have in their life with each other, but he has to push that down. He absolutely cannot let himself think that way. That’s how he’ll make himself miserable. “I’m excited for us to eat pizza and sit on our asses all day.”

 

“That’s the best way to spend a Saturday.”

 

“Who’s running the restaurant, Eric?”

 

“Oh no one. I figured people could go in and simply eat all of the fish raw.”

 

“So Smee?”

 

“Smee.” Eric nods.

 

The three of them talk a little bit more, mostly about this year’s regatta and beach festival over Labor Day weekend, before moving into the living room and settling down after closing the curtains so that the usually light room is covered in darkness. He grabs a blanket from the basket and settles down on their recliner while Ariel and Eric lounge on the couch. He can’t help himself from wondering if Emma is actually going to show up, but he’s not about to ask about it. He could tell that Ariel noticed... _something_  between he and Emma after their little run in at lunch. She’s far too perceptive of him, and he doesn’t want to let her onto anything. He may have no clue what exactly is happening with he and Emma, but he does know that she doesn’t want anyone to know that they’re soulmates. She’d likely be pissed at him if he were to let that secret spill.

 

So he can’t ask if Emma is still coming today. He has to act normally.

 

Which definitely doesn’t happen when he hears the click of the front door as it opens and Emma steps inside in what looks like her running gear with her hair tucked in a ponytail under her cap and legs on display in her black shorts and loose white tank top with a neon yellow sports bra underneath.

 

Bloody hell.

 

She’s trying to kill him. And somehow he knows that she’s doing it on purpose since she’s the one who wanted to wear pajamas and have un-brushed hair and simply do nothing today. And yet she’s apparently decided to go out for a run and wear...that.

 

What in the world goes through her mind? He’d love to know. He really would.

 

God, her legs.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” she starts, reaching down to pet Max’s ears before she’s in the living room and leaning over the couch to kiss Eric’s cheek and hug Ariel’s neck, giving him a slight wave. “I slept a little too late and then decided I wanted to go for a run since I’m going to be sitting on my ass all day. How many episodes did you guys watch without me?”

 

“None. We waited on you.”

 

“Oh perfect. What are we eating? I’m starving.”

 

“We’re making pizzas.”

 

“Oh my God,” she groans, falling over the loveseat and propping her legs up over the arm while he wishes for all of the world that she would stop talking. He’s never going to be able to move this blanket off of his lap. Her legs are so damn long. “I love homemade pizzas. If I ever get a house, I’m buying one of those pizza ovens. I just have to, because our apartment fire escape definitely can’t hold a pizza oven.”

 

“We should get one of those,” Ariel suggests to Eric.

 

“We have one at the restaurant.”

 

“But that’s not the same as having it here. You don’t let me cook in the restaurant kitchen.”

 

“You once lost your hairband in the kitchen, and we had to shut down the kitchen until we found it in the trash.”

 

“That was an accident.”

 

“There are health codes, A.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“So are we going to cook the pizza now?” Emma asks, breaking Ariel and Eric out of their conversation. “That way we can eat while we watch. Don’t you think that’s a great idea, Killian?”

 

He grits his teeth and tries to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down as the base of his spine tingles a bit. She’s talking quite a lot today, and like the outfit, he definitely thinks it’s on purpose. He’d really rather like for the woman to make up her mind on whether she wants to tease him or kiss him and then run away because he has absolutely no idea what to think.

 

“That’s a grand idea, Swan.”

 

So they make their pizzas, the four of them moving around the kitchen, and he swears that Emma never stops talking. She and Ariel get into some kind of deep discussion about the Outlander book series, and while he’s read most of them, he keeps his mouth closed over everything as he kneads the dough for his, his hands covered in flour that’s found its way to the hem of his shirt.

 

He should have thought through the repercussions of wearing gray joggers around Emma.

 

When Ariel and Eric put their pizzas in the oven, only two fitting at a time, they leave the room to sit back down on the couches, leaving he and Emma to themselves. She’s currently on the tips of her toes trying to reach a spice from the top of the cabinet, and he takes the opportunity to cage her in, getting close enough that his chest brushes into her back but not too close so as to make her uncomfortable as he whispers in her ear.

 

“You know, darling, I find that women who run away after kissing me don’t tend to spend the next time they see trying to arouse me.”

 

“Lots of women run after you kiss them then?”

 

“Just the one.”

 

He feels her breath hitch and her shoulders tense, and he smirks into her ear, taking the risk of rubbing his beard gently into her as his hand travels up her arm. He can small sweat on her skin but also her shampoo and the faintest whiff of the pizza they’re making, and all he wants his to brush his lips under the shell of her ear so that he can hear the sound that he’s sure that it would elicit. But he doesn’t. He can’t. So he reaches his hand up a little further to grab the garlic seasoning she’s reaching for and places it on the counter.

 

“But I have a feeling that she’d like to do it again,” he tacks on before backing away from her.

 

“You wish.”

 

“I do.”

 

As fun as it is teasing her, he cannot stand that close to her again without doing something, so he quickly leaves the room, moving to the guest bathroom to splash his face with water and take a breather. He can finish making his pizza later, but he needs to calm down. And he refuses to wank another one out in this household, so he’s not going to. But seriously, what was he thinking when it came to his choice of pants?

 

“You okay?” Ariel asks when he exits the bathroom.

 

“Just dandy.”

 

From then on, he decides to stop taking the high road. If Emma’s going to torture him, he can do the same to her. He shouldn’t be the one taking the high road anyways. They’re regressing to how they were when they went out on the boat, and while it’s not what he wants, it’s where they are.

 

He is too old to be playing games, but life keeps throwing him new decks of cards.

 

Everyone is silent as the show starts, only the sound of the television and Max scratching his stomach filling the room, but he prefers it enough so that he can have a chance to calm himself down more while they eat. The pizza is delicious, and he idly wonders if he could get an oven on the deck of his apartment. Possibly. He’d have to check with his super. All is well throughout the first episode, but then during the second Emma and Eric start talking about the security system he’s having installed down at the restaurant. It’s a quiet murmuring, not really detracting from the show, but with the consistency of it, he can feel his erection beginning to grow at the sound of her voice in a way that it hasn’t since the first time that they met.

 

If his body could make up its mind on how it reacts to Emma, that would be great.

 

Fantastic. Now he sounds like that meme online.

 

And he sounds ancient saying it like that.

 

_Killian: You have got to stop talking right now._

_Emma: Why? Is your sail being raised?_

 

He appreciates the pun, but he’s really not in the mood for it right now.

 

_Killian: Yes._

_Emma: Their bedroom is just down the hall. You’re familiar with it._

 

He glances over toward Emma, but she’s not even looking in his direction, her eyes still glued to the television screen.

 

_Killian: Would you like to join me?_

_Emma: Like I said, you wish._

_Killian: You literally have no idea._

_Emma: Gross._

_Killian: Oh come on, Swan. I know you find me charming._

_Emma: Again. You wish. I’m just going to keep repeating that._

_Emma: Why are they spending ten minutes writing a fake letter on this show? I know people wrote letters back in the day because they didn’t have anything else, but I feel like this is over the top._

_Killian: It’s rather romantic to think about people writing letters to their loved ones who they may never see again._

_Emma: Yeah, but they had to know that no one was going to see the letters._

_Killian: But they said the words, love. They made sure there was nothing left unsaid. It’s closure, I think. And there’s also a beauty in putting your words to the page._

_Emma: No one writes letters anymore, but you definitely could with the way you talk like an eighteenth century poet._

_Killian: Maybe I’ll have to think on that._

_Killian: They wrote letters in Harry Potter despite having actual magic._

 

_Emma: You like Harry Potter?_

_Killian: I was a lanky British boy with dark hair and light eyes who wore glasses. He was basically my hero._

_Emma: That’s adorable._

_Emma: Do you still have those glasses?_

_Killian: The magic of contacts is better than the magic of the Elder wand._

_Emma: That’s the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said._

_Killian: But you understood the reference, didn’t you?_

_Emma: …_

_Emma: Yes. Harry Potter was pretty much my hero too. There’s not a lot of stories about orphans that end well._

 

He realizes what she’s just said, what she’s just revealed about herself even if he already knew that, but he knows not to push. This conversation is a rare pleasant one with her, and he’s not going to mess it up now. They get along when they text, sometimes even when they speak, and maybe this is simply going to be a rollercoaster of a relationship from now on.

 

Not that it’s a relationship romantically speaking. It’s simply a relationship as in they have one and can’t seem to get away from each other. Not a friendship, but maybe something close.

 

It doesn’t even matter.

 

_Killian: Do you secretly have a wand and a robe in your bedroom?_

_Emma: Not that kind of wand._

 

He has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, but it doesn’t work, his chuckles still ending up much louder than he anticipated. Ariel and Eric don’t notice, especially since they seem to still be much more wrapped up in the show than he is, and honestly, he’s fine with that. He’s terrified that if anything changes, if there’s the smallest shift, whatever little spell he and Emma are under right now will break and the pleasantries will stop.

 

No part of him wants them to stop.

 

And he’s going a bit crazy because he’s starting to think of other ideas for how he can keep getting to know Emma. Or at least, for her to get to know him.

_Killian: Look who’s making jokes about the boudoir now._

_Emma: Did you say that just to use the word “boudoir”?_

_Killian: You bet I did._


	10. Chapter Ten

No part of her understands why their cable bill is mailed to her. They’re a cable company. They provide TV and internet and yet they’ve never heard of paperless online billing. It’s ridiculous. And yet the minute she’s late with her payment she gets an increasingly nasty series of emails that shows they obviously know how to use the internet. And since Storybrooke Cable is the only company that provides internet in a sixty-mile radius, it’s not like they don’t have the funds to set up a website. Hell, she’ll take a class and learn how to program the website for them if she has to.

 

Well, probably not. That’s all a little dramatic, but she really hates having to go down to the mailboxes in the basement to get her mail so that she can go upstairs and write a check and buy a stamp to mail the payment in. It’s not the biggest deal in the world, but she hates it.

 

She obviously would not have lasted in a world without internet.

 

The old stairs creak beneath her, a sound that she’s used to when she’s carrying her laundry downstairs (it’s how she knows when she’s on the unsteady step since usually she can’t see over the full height of her clothes which is what procrastination gets her), and she quickly descends downstairs to the row of mailboxes that rest against the wall in front of the washing machines and dryers that work at least ninety percent of the time.

 

She and Belle need to move to a nicer place. They can afford it, but then again, if Belle moves, it’ll probably be with Will. It’s a constant thought every time Emma thinks about it, so she never quite works up the courage to bring up moving somewhere else. This place is just fine, they’ve made it their home, and so what if she has to walk to a bit of a creepy place to get her mail to pay her cable bill. It’s not like anyone in this town is actually going to do something to her.

 

They’d have hell to pay.

 

The stairs could use a little work, though, maybe a few new light fixtures for the hallways too.

 

Pulling out her key, she twists it in her box, opening it and grabbing the few envelopes that lay flat against the metal. She closes the box, locking it back up, and as she walks up the stairs, she shuffles through the mail, tripping on a loose board as she sees neat black script inked across the white in the upper left corner.

 

_Killian Jones_.

 

What the hell?

 

What the hell is he doing sending her a letter? Even though her toe is still stinging from how she jammed it, the pain worse than some of her injuries she’s gotten on the job, she stops in the middle of the staircase and rips the letter open.

 

_Dear Emma Swan,_

_You’ll have to forgive me because it’s been awhile since I’ve written a letter that’s not an e-mail. I’ve been told by a rather reliable source that it’s a bit old-fashioned to write like this, but I do like a bit of a challenge. So, Swan, I’m sitting at my desk writing you a letter on stationary that Ariel found me and with my very favorite pen. And while I don’t expect you to write back, I have included several stamps to encourage you. You wouldn’t want me to waste money, now would you?_

_Anyways, I find myself wondering about you because you intrigue me. There are things I’d like to know. For instance, how long have you been a secret nerd watching the History Channel and National Geographic? I, for one, have been a fan for years. It’s fascinating to learn about things that have happened in the past. What other interests do you have? Do you enjoy sports? Read any good books lately? What is your ultimate favorite baked good? Do you like cooking them yourself? Are you one of those people who have a favorite flower? I am partial to sunflowers over roses, preferring the brightness of yellow, but then again, there are yellow roses._

_I’m simply but a curious man who enjoys knowing the answers to my questions, and in return, you can feel free to ask me anything you want. I’d even tell you what kind of underwear I wear since you seem to be averse to answering that particular question._

_Sincerely,_

_Killian A. Jones_

“Oh my God,” she mumbles, scanning over the words one more time before opening up the envelope to see several stamps with pictures of sailboats on them.

 

A part of her absolutely cannot believe that he wrote her a freaking letter, but then again, she’s not really shocked. That’s exactly something that he would do just to annoy her, and the fact that he included stamps is really over the top. She’s not going to complain. She needs stamps, but damn, the man is persistent.

 

But she’s not going to write him back.

 

Absolutely not.

 

She folds his letter back up and puts it in the envelope before walking up the rest of the stairs and turning in the stairwell so she can get back to her floor, quickly moving into her apartment to write a check so she can send off the cable bill before she gets to work this morning. Belle is still sleeping, so she tries to stay quiet as she grabs her purse and walks right back out the door, all of her mail in the front pocket of her purse.

 

All day she ignores the letter that seems to be burning a hole through the leather material of her purse that’s hidden under her desk, but it’s more of an attempt at ignoring it than actually ignoring it, because when David leaves to go question a fight that broke out down by the pier, she grabs a piece of paper out of the printer and starts writing something back.

 

Damn it. Has she lost control of her limbs?

 

_Jones,_

_You’re ridiculous. Seriously. I can’t believe you took our texts as a challenge, but then again, it is you. I have no idea why I’m writing you back, but you did say that I could ask you any question I want, and, well, I simply can’t pass up that opportunity._

_So tell me, what is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you? And spare no detail._

_Sincerely,_

_Emma Swan._

_PS: I am a mean ping pong player, and I agree with you about the roses. If you’re looking for a good book recommendation, though, I suggest Belle. She gives me all of mine._

_Oh, and bear claws._

_And I want to know what the A in your name stands for._

Quickly, she stuffs the paper in an envelope, seals it, writes his address on it, places a stamp in the corner, and puts it in the mailbox outside of the station so that she literally can’t take it back without tampering with federal law. She’ll bend a lot of rules, but she’s not going to break federal law over something as dumb as a letter.

 

Two days later, she gets a letter back. There’s no formal address this time, and she kind of likes that…not that she likes this.

 

_Really went straight for the kill then, eh Swan? It took me a bit to remember what exactly my most embarrassing memory is, simply because I’m so suave that I don’t have many embarrassing moments._

_However, when I was a young lad of twenty-three, I had the night off and left base to go out to a pub with a few of my mates. This was something we did often, something we’d done for our five years together, but on this particular night I indulged in a few too many glasses of rum. My tolerance wasn’t quite what it is now, even if I do wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck now, and while I don’t remember the night but in a few glances (particularly me telling the lasses that I was the Captain when I was not), I do remember waking up in the flat of a woman I didn’t know without my clothes anywhere in sight. Either she stole them, my mates somehow stole them, or something else happened, but my options to get home were either walking in the streets of Birkenhead in the nude or wearing this lass’s mother’s nightgown. It was this billowing, flowery thing, and while I fully believe I can wear anything I want, let’s just say my actual Captain did not take too kindly to me walking back onto base in something that was not approved. I was written up three times for one incident, and I’d just like you to imagine me having to explain why to my superiors why I was wearing a nightgown when I had no idea myself._

_I have to say, though, nightgowns are quite comfortable. Lots of air to breathe. It’s likely a good thing that my mates thought it would be funny to buy me a nightgown when I was promoted. It was much more my taste. Silk is wonderful, though I don’t think I ever wore it. I much prefer my briefs._

_So, there’s a story of one of the brightest moments of my youth, and while I’m sure you’ll somehow use it to torture me, it’s yours to know._

_My middle name is, Andrew, by the way, and the lovely Belle has recommended me to The Guest Book as reading material. It’s rather good. Feel free to borrow my copy if you’d like. Speaking of Belle, I hear Mr. French makes rather delectable bear claws, but he’s in a fierce rivalry with Mrs. Lucas over who makes the best. Personally, I think they’re using pastries as a bit of foreplay, but that’s simply a theory from an observer._

_Now, Swan, I’ve metaphorically shown you mine, so you should show me yours._

_Have a good week,_

_Killian Andrew Jones._

Emma doesn’t realize it, but by the time she’s finished reading the letter, she’s got tears streaming down her face, just a few of them, from laughing at the thought of Killian running around in a nightgown. That’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, but for some reason, she has no issue imagining him walking into base in a flowery nightgown that hits at his knees and shows off all of the hair on his legs with the shoulders being a little tight. It’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and she’s glad that Belle is still at the library so that she doesn’t ask what in the world Emma is laughing at.

 

It would be a little hard to explain.

 

Well, not really, but she doesn’t want to explain. Because her explaining any of this would make her have to explain other things, and since Belle already knows that Killian sent her the basket of baked goods months ago. So it would be too difficult to explain her...having to explain. This is kind of like some sort of bad inception.

 

But Belle’s not even here, so it definitely doesn’t matter.

 

While she’s still laughing, she gets up from the table and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass out of the cabinets and pouring her a glass of the wine that she and Belle didn’t finish drinking last night. If she’s going to spend her time writing letters to Killian, which is a ridiculous concept in and of itself, she should at least have some alcohol in her.

 

Not enough to make her have to wake up without clothes and have to borrow an ugly nightgown from the mother of the person she’d slept with but some alcohol all the same.

 

She doesn’t have any paper here, so she has to shuffle through some of the old notebooks Belle keeps on their bookshelves, and takes out a lined page from the back, settling down on the couch with her wine and paper and pin while Drain the Oceans plays on the TV.

 

_Killian Andrew (Asshole) Jones,_

_I’ve added the “asshole” because I really did think that was your middle name. You did say you would respond to it, but I guess Andrew is okay. Is that a family name? Your father’s maybe? I don’t have a middle name, didn’t even have a last name, only my first, but I’ve always kind of thought it would be something classic since my first name is._

_Shit. I just got wine on the paper. Oops._

_So you and that rum, huh? You seem to be a fan of it. And also nightgowns. Are you sure you don’t sleep in one of those? Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? You scare them all away with your nightgown. I imagine it makes easy access to...things, so really, they should like it better than the briefs. It’s just a great mystery that may never be solved._

_Granny’s bear claws are better than Mr. French’s hands down, but Mr. French has better pastries overall. Plus, he’s like my dad, so you implying that they have a thing going on is really kind of freaking me out. I bet Granny wears a nightgown, though, which makes my earlier joke about easy access so much creepier._

_Some things simply shouldn’t be imagined. But if you’re going to, make sure to tell Ruby to scar her for life._

_I haven’t read that book, but if Belle recommends it, it must be good. I’ll have to check it out. I’ve been very into historical romances lately, which isn’t really on par for me, but there’s simply something about Jane Austen, you know?_

_Thanks for telling me your most embarrassing story. You’re right. I’m totally going to use that against you, and no, I will not tell you my most embarrassing story. It involves karaoke, though, so it’s a good one._

_Emma_

If she hadn’t had the wine, she probably would have realized that she revealed a bit too much in her letter, but after she seals it that night and sends it off in the morning, still using the sailboat stamps Killian provided, she doesn’t think about it.

 

Not at all.

 

What she does think about is the fact that eight days go by without a new letter. She didn’t even realize that she wanted another letter, that she got a weird sense of excitement over them, until she wasn’t receiving one in her mailbox.

 

Who has she turned into that she’s checking her mailbox daily?

 

What decade is this?

 

But her week has gone by as normal, spending her days at work, reveling in the hour break she gets to eat lunch with David or Ariel, and her evenings at home, sometimes with Belle, sometimes not. On Saturday she, Ruby, Belle, Mary Margaret, and Ariel all spent the day at the beach, waking up early enough to beat all of the tourists there, and settled down with blankets and umbrellas with bags full of food and a cooler full of drinks. They didn’t bother moving, not unless to dip into the ocean to cool themselves off or to run up to the pier to use the restroom, and even if her eyes constantly trailed down to the pier to look at the fleet of ships and boats and what not resting outside of the Jones’ office.

 

And if her eyes kept checking her texts even if most everyone she spoke to was already there, no one had to know. Though she does think that Ruby noticed.

 

She wasn’t very subtle in her desperation.

 

But she didn’t see him, not that she wanted to, and she tried to push it all to the back of her mind to enjoy the day as the sun beat down on her skin so that she got the slightest bit of a tan that she hopes stays with her until the fall.

 

Okay, so she thinks about the lack of a letter a lot.

 

However, she wasn’t thinking about it when she was driving home from work, but now that she’s standing next to the door of her apartment with Will holding a stack of their mail, it’s all she can think about.

 

Shit.

 

Why didn’t it occur to her that she and Belle share a mailbox and that Belle could see one of these letters? How could she have missed that?

 

“Hey,” she cautiously greets, placing her keys down, the clanging loud in her ears, on the table and stepping further into the room, “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

 

“Belle and I are going to dinner. Why do you have a letter from Jones?”

 

“Huh?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady even though her heart is beating wildly in her chest, the sound louder than it has been in a long time. She can feel it all the way down to her toes. “I have a letter?”

 

Will raises his eyebrow, obviously not believing her, and as casually as she can, she steps forward and takes the letter from Will, stuffing it away in the back pocket of her jeans.

 

“So where are you guys going for dinner?” Emma asks to change the subject.

 

“Eric’s place. He gives me a discount.”

 

“Ah, yes, because everyone wants discount fish.”

 

“Oi, it’s not like he’s giving us the old fish.”

 

“So you think. If you guys die in a few days, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

“We’ll be dead, and you’ll be bragging about it.”

 

“Exactly.” She steps around Will and sits down on the couch, reaching down to unlace her boots and kick them off. “I guess I’ll miss you.”

 

“Gee, thanks.”

 

“Emma,” Belle shouts, and Emma leans her head back to look down the hall to see Belle standing in the hallway, “can I borrow those teal heels that you wore last week?”

 

“Yeah, they’re in my bathroom.”

 

Belle doesn’t say anything back, but less than a minute she comes into their living room wearing the teal heels and a little black dress, fluffing out her hair over her shoulders while Will grabs his coat off the chair, stepping up to her and kissing her cheek, whispering something that Emma doesn’t pick up on, which is good. It’s private, and she doesn’t need to hear things about their private life.

 

Her hearing thing has been wonky lately anyways. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

 

“We probably won’t be back until late,” Belle tells her, and Emma reaches her hand up over the couch to let Belle grab onto it. “Do you want me to bring you back anything?”

 

“Nah, you two go have fun. Don’t do anything that I’ll have to investigate.”

 

“Well, that just takes all of the fun away.”

 

After the two of them leave, she leans up on the couch and pulls the later out of her back pocket, hoping that Will forgets about it and doesn’t mention it to Belle, and quickly opens the sealed envelope, her nerves running over every inch of her skin and making her fingers shake the slightest bit as she straightens the creases out of the paper.

 

_Emma,_

_I apologize for my late reply, but you seem to have caught me at a bad time. I had a client call and request a refurbishment on his seafaring vessel (his words, not mine), and I’ve been consumed with it. I love this job. It’s a way to keep me connected to the ocean, a place where I spent so much of my life, but this is different. And it certainly didn’t help that my wrist decided to act up a bit this week. It’s the weather and all._

_Regardless, I do wish you would have told me your most embarrassing story. I feel like it’s a real ice breaker, and I love karaoke....if I’m drunk. But then again, bad things seem to happen when I’m drunk. So wine? That’s your vice? I always took you more as a tequila or whiskey type, but then again, I’m learning that I know very little about you, love. Though, I like that it’s changing a bit, if I may be so bold._

_Jane Austen is bloody brilliant, and it’s nice to hear of someone else appreciating her. Mr. Darcy and I have a lot in common, you know? I, too, screw up with strong-willed women and then have to realize the error of my ways to have them allow me back into their lives. Or, at least, I hope. Tell me, if you’re a fan of historical romances, how are you not a fan of letter writing when that is such a core piece of the story? Is it simply that you don’t like modern day letter writing because it, for practical reasons, doesn’t make any sense? We could have had this entire conversation in ten minutes, but it’s taken eight days. Yet, this is a bit more fun, even though talking to you does incite other kinds of fun._

_As to my middle name, it’s my mother’s maiden name. My father’s name is Brennan, and the only thing I carry from him is the Jones name, which is likely a good thing. He wasn’t a good man. He was a drunk, and he abandoned us when I was ten. I’m proud to be a Jones because of my brother and my mum, so like you, I suspect that my last name carries a weight that most don’t._

_Anyways, that’s much too much information about me. Tell me, Swan, there’s a Summer Regatta coming up in two weeks. Do you think you’ll be at the festival? I know someone who can get you a free ride on a boat._

_Killian._

He’s got a screwed up family too.

 

That’s what she gets out of all of that. It’s not that he loves the same books that she does, not that he correctly guessed her drinking vices, not that he practically invited her to be his date to the regatta in over Labor Day weekend. It’s the fact that he has a screwed up family, a drunk deadbeat dad and a dead mom. She knew his family life wasn’t great, if only because Elsa never mentions having to take the kids to go see Liam’s parents.

 

Huh.

 

She can kind of see it now, can see that he is a bit of an orphan too, and even though he had parents, it breaks her heart. No one should ever have to grow up without having people love them, and she’s thankful that Killian had Liam and their mom. That’s a nice thing for them to have a family, even if it’s not what most people would call complete.

 

Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s the fact that she suddenly understands Killian in a way that she knows only a few people can, but she pulls out her phone and lets her fingers move without thinking about it too much.

 

_Emma: So not a fan of karaoke then? Is your voice that bad?_

 

The three dots pop up almost immediately after she presses send only for them to disappear, only coming back every few seconds. He’s either trying to think of what to say or realized that he’s texting back incredibly fast. It’s nice to know some things never change.

 

_Killian: For someone who is incredibly attracted to my voice, that’s a bold thing for you to suggest._

_Emma: Touché._

_Emma: So it’s not bad then?_

_Killian: I’ve been told that it’s actually pretty good, but I find that karaoke does nothing but bring embarrassment unless you’ve been drinking all day._

_Emma: Okay, but say you have…what’s your go-to song?_

_Kilian: Easy. Anything Elton John. He’s so easy to understand._

_Emma: You’re kidding, right?_

_Killian: Nope._

He definitely has to be kidding.

_Emma: I figured you’d be more of a Queen or Beatles guy. I’m pretty partial to Queen._

_Killian: Well, I could do those too. Or pretty much anything from the eighties. I feel old, but I don’t know a lot of the new songs._

_Emma: That’s because you are old._

_Killian: Being older than you doesn’t make old. And as you can tell, I’ve retained my youthful glow._

_Emma: Sure, we’ll call it that._

 

She takes another sip of her wine and turns the volume up a bit on the television so that she’s not simply staring at her phone waiting for him to text her back. That’d be pathetic. Then again, she’s sitting at home drinking wine and watching the History Channel while her roommate is out on a date. That could be considered pathetic. Or very, very smart depending on who is asked.

 

_Killian: What are you up to tonight, love?_

_Emma: Watching Drain the Ocean, though I’ll be honest and say I have no idea what’s going on._

_Emma: You?_

_Killian: The same, actually._

_Emma: Creepy._

_Killian: Believe it or not, I think we have similar taste in television shows._

_Emma: Ugh, I know. I can’t believe I have so much in common with an old man._

_Killian: If you keep flattering a man like this, he might get the impression that you like him._

_Emma: Never._

_Emma: At least we don’t like the same foods. Unless you secretly like junk food._

_Killian: I enjoy certain kinds, but I don’t think I have the same propensity for grilled cheese, onion rings, and bear claws like you do._

_Emma: I also like poptarts and brownies. Oooh and lots of icing._

_Killian: You’re a child._

_Emma: Oh, come on. You don’t like icing?_

_Killian: If there’s cake attached, yeah._

_Emma: No, no. You’ve got this all wrong. Straight out of the can._

_Killian: You also eat raw cookie dough, don’t you?_

_Emma: Duh._

_Killian: I do like cookies, though. And mostly pastries that involve fruit. It makes it all feel a little healthier._

_Emma: You’re in shape. I think you’ve got the healthy thing down._

_Killian: I knew you liked staring at my ass._

_Emma: I said nothing about your ass._

_Killian: Just my general body then? The abs? The biceps? My collarbone? What about my left ankle? You’re into period romances. I bet the left ankle really does it for you._

 

“Oh my God,” she mutters to herself, putting her glass down on the coffee table and standing from the couch, smiling to herself as she reads the message and walks to the kitchen. He’s such an idiot.

 

Such an idiot.

 

And now she really wants something sweet to eat, so she presses up on her toes and gets a can of chocolate icing out of the pantry popping open the top and grabbing a spoon out of the drawer so she can at least be a little civilized about the whole thing. Without putting much thought into it, she holds the spoon full of icing up to her mouth and takes a quick picture, not checking to see what she looks like before sending it to Killian.

 

_Emma: See? This is the way to eat sweets._

 

The three dots pop up before they disappear just like before, and she doesn’t really have time to think about it before the front door is swinging open and Belle is walking inside, an obviously bright red flush on her pale cheeks.

 

“I’m engaged,” she squeals, holding her left hand up as she walks into the apartment, a small diamond ring resting there.

 

“What?” Emma gasps, nearly choking on her icing before she puts the spoon and the container down, running her tongue over her teeth to wipe up all of the excess icing. “You’re engaged?”

 

“Yes! Will asked at dinner. Oh my gosh. You know, I always swore I wouldn’t be one of those girls, but I did the thing where I put my hands over my mouth when he got down on one knee.”

 

“Of course you did,” she laughs, reaching forward and wrapping Belle up in a hug, squeezing her as tightly as she can while she sees Will walk into the apartment, bags of takeout in his hands and a smile on his face that tells Emma he’s just as happy as Belle is. Good. They deserve all of the happiness. “I’m so damn happy for you. Both of you.”

 

“And you’ll be so much happier when you know that I brought you earplugs for tonight,” Will tells her when she hugs him.

 

“That is so gross.”

 

“I’m simply trying to be helpful.”

 

“Babe,” Belle laughs, walking over to the two of them and leaning into Will to press a kiss into his cheek, “stop grossing Emma out and give me five minutes to tell her what happened before we can let her put the earplugs into use.”

 

“Nope, nope, no,” she refuses, putting her hands in the air, “you guys just go. We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

“Perfect.”

 

“Please ignore him.”

 

“I promise you I’m trying.”

 

Will and Belle go back to their room, and she takes the opportunity to grab her phone, her icing, and plant herself in front of the television, turning to volume up so that she doesn’t have to risk hearing anything else. Tonight will probably be the night that her weird hearing thing picks up again.

 

She is so damn happy for the two of them, a bit of a buzz of happiness spreading over her skin, but she can’t help the little voice in her head that wonders what’s next for her if the two of them are getting married.

 

She hates that she thinks that.

 

Her phone dings, and she looks down at it, forgetting that she was texting Killian before Belle and Will came home.

 

How long were they texting for her friends to get engaged during that time? That’s…a lot of time. Did it really all go by that quickly? She didn’t even notice.

 

_Killian: I mean, there’s definitely something sweet in that picture that I’d like to eat._

 

Emma chuckles under her breath, unable to help herself, especially when accompanying the text is a picture of him holding a banana over half of his face, the scars on his wrist and the chain around his neck visible even in the dimness of his apartment. And damn it. This was not supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

 

She likes Killian Jones.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters, so I really hope that you guys enjoy it💙

After loading the last children’s life jacket into the back of his jeep, Killian closes the hatch and listens to it slam in place before opening his front door and climbing in. He’s got his windows and roof down, his radio turned onto a station that’s playing hits from the eighties since he’s really into that lately, and he doesn’t think Storybrooke has ever experienced a more perfect day weather-wise. It’s not going to get above eighty degrees, and there are no clouds in sight as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky.

 

If he had to put how he feels about today in a word, the word would be excited.

 

And he’s not entirely sure that it encapsulates how he feels like there’s a bit of a bounce in his step and that he’s gone back five and a half years to being in his twenties and thinking that everything in his life was ahead of him and simply waiting for him to achieve it. Technically, that’s true, but it also wasn’t true back then. It’s fine, though. The past is the past, and he’s ready to, not forget it, but move on from it. Tomorrow, when the festival is over and the sun isn’t shining as brightly, the breeze not as pleasant, he may feel differently, but that’s something for him to worry about on another day.

 

Some of the streets are closed today, especially the ones around the beach and his apartment, so it’s a bit of a difficult situation to get to Liam’s house to pick up Luis and Luca. He’d wanted them to simply be dropped off at his apartment since it’s infinitely easier, but just because today is the summer regatta doesn’t mean that everyone in town has off of work. He’s not sure the place would function if that were true, but it’d be nice for the twins to get to spend time with Elsa instead of her having to go into work. He thinks that he and Liam are pretty awesome, but they definitely don’t compare to Elsa.

 

He might be slightly too fond of his brother’s wife, but she’s felt like his sister since the day they met.

 

When he gets to their house, he turns his key to turn off his jeep before getting out and walking toward the front door, his sneakers melting into the dew-covered grass before he’s walking up the few steps on the porch and stepping into their house. At one point in time, he was mortified of walking in on Liam and Elsa, but now that they have kids, he doesn’t really think he’s going to find them going at it in the entryway before eight in the morning.

 

Well, he hopes not. And he’d really rather not think about it. Some things will never not be scarring.

 

No one is running around the entryway or the living room, but he does hear a bit of movement from the back of the house near the kitchen. That’s where he finds Elsa and the kids sitting at the kitchen island with bowls of cereal and a plate of fruit in between them. Yeah, they’re definitely going to beg him for junk food later. At least he’s not the one who has to put them to bed while on sugar highs.

 

“What? Nobody was going to invite me to breakfast?”

 

Three blonde heads turn to the side to look at him, and he smiles a bit at how similar they all look. It’s uncanny really.

 

“You can have some of mine,” Luis offers, holding his bowl up.

 

“Thank you, lad.” He walks over to them and stands next to Elsa behind the counter, pressing a kiss into her cheek before reaching forward and grabbing a grape from the plate of fruit. “But you can eat your food. I think you might need it so you have energy for today.”

 

“What are we doing?”

 

“Oh, well, I’m going to have you two racing the sailboats. You’re just going to swim right along with the boats.”

 

“Are we really?”

 

“No,” Elsa laughs, hitting him in the back, “you guys are not doing that.”

 

“Mom,” they both whine, the way they match up eerie.

 

He nudges Elsa’s shoulder. “Yeah, Mum.”

 

Elsa rolls her eyes before leaning down to prop her elbows on the granite, her blouse sleeves riding up a bit. “You two are going to the festival with Killian and going to play the games at the booths and eat lunch with him until your dad gets off of work.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“When I get off of work, I’m going to come to the pier too, so you guys have to make sure to save some fun for me.”

 

“Eh, maybe,” Luca shrugs before flicking her braids over her shoulders. “I heard that there’s going to be a sandcastle contest, and I want to do it.”

 

“What time is that? Do you know?” Elsa asks him.

 

“Not until the evening, so you and Liam can likely do it with them.”

 

“What? You don’t want to spend all day with kids who aren’t yours, and you’re just going to shove them off to the parents?”

 

He winks. “Exactly.”

 

After getting the twins dressed in their swimsuits and cover-ups, being handed two backpacks full of things that he knows he’ll have to carry around all day instead of the two of them actually carrying them, they all bid Elsa goodbye as she heads to work and Killian drives them back to his apartment, working through the already congested traffic to pull into his parking spot. The twins barely let him turn the key before they’re hoping out of the jeep, and he has to shout for them to stay still while he gets their bags and their life jackets from the trunk. He idly wonders if they would be okay wearing the life jackets all day so he doesn’t have to carry them, but he thinks that’d probably be a little excessive since they won’t need them until Liam takes over.

 

Probably.

 

He still might do it.

 

“Can we get something to eat?” Luis asks when they turn the corner on the pier and start walking down the pathway full of booths, colored banners hanging on strings between every stall to bring a bit more brightness to the area. “I’m hungry.”

 

“You just ate.”

 

“I’m a growing boy.”

 

Killian rolls his eyes and pats Luis on the back over his bag. “We’ll get lunch when we can. What do you guys want to do? Do you want to play games?”

 

“Can we go out on a boat?”

 

“Not until after the races.”

 

“I want to play the ring toss game.” Luca points up ahead of them to a booth where several other kids are standing. “Do you have any money?”

 

“Darn. I knew that I forgot something.”

 

“Uncle Killian,” she whines, tugging on his t-shirt, “please.”

 

“I have money, love,” he laughs as he gently yanks at one of her braids. “Luis, do you want to play that one too?”

 

“Sure.”

 

If Luca and Luis were anyone else’s kids, he knows that they would not be nearly as calm as they are. He loves Roland, thinks he’s the sweetest thing, but he’s also got a bit of a wild streak that can be hard to contain. Luca and Luis, though, are basically small eight-year-old versions of Elsa and Liam. They’re calm, collected, usually very focused on the task ahead, and he swears that he could spend all of his time with them.

 

No part of them are calm, collected, and focused today.

 

Scratch that. They are extremely focused, but it’s usually on what game they can play next. They finish one booth, get their prize (which he carries), and then they have to move onto the next one, nearly sprinting back and forth on the pier while sweat gathers at the nape of his neck. A part of him wishes that the games were like carnie games where everything is rigged, but since the Storybrooke city council puts this thing together, everything is always fair and kid friendly. Even if it would cost him more money, he kind of wishes that maybe it took them a little longer to push the boat toys across the small man-made ocean in their miniature race.

 

But they’re having fun, and that’s all that really matters to them, and when it’s time for the actual race to start, he has to tug the two of them away from a booth that is selling goldfish (there is no way in hell he’s going to be carrying those around all day for them to simply die from the jostling) to head toward the end of the pier that juts out into the ocean so that they can have a better look.

 

Really, Killian should notice her before he does, but with the sounds of the waves crashing around them and all of the extra people in the town for the festival and holiday weekend, he doesn’t hear her until he’s standing right next to her at the railings.

 

“Hey, Killian,” Ruby greets, and when he’s lifting his hand in greeting, Emma turns her head around to look at them, her lips parting the slightest bit. And if she didn’t have on sunglasses, he’s sure that her eyes would be widened. “Why aren’t you racing? Aren’t you, like, the boat guy?”

 

“Unfortunately, I don’t own my own.”

 

“And he’s watching us until our dad gets here,” Luca adds in for him. “Hi, Ms. Emma.”

 

“Hey, guys,” Emma cajoles, a bright smile on her face as she waves at the twins before she tugs on one of her two braids that’s resting over her shoulder. “I like your hair, Luca.”

 

Luca gasps, almost like she’s seen a unicorn, before coming to his other side and looking up at Emma with all the admiration in the world. “Your hair looks just like mine, but you have a different color blonde.”

 

“Well, that’s because you have your mom’s hair.”

 

“I like yours.”

 

“I _love_  yours,” Emma promises, reaching down to adjust the bands on Luca’s braids while he smiles down at her, his stomach fluttering the slightest bit. Of course she perfectly gets along with children. She only fluctuates on her feelings when it comes to him. “So you guys are stuck with your boring uncle all day?”

 

“Just half of the day.”

 

“Hey,” he groans, pressing his lips back in into his face as he tries to take a few breaths to calm the bit of heat that’s rising on his cheeks, “don’t act like you’re not excited just because someone else is here.”

 

A whistle blows, and he twists his head to the side to see several sailboats start to make their way out of the marina, slowly maneuvering around the water and over the waves, and he takes the opportunity to point it out to the twins, Luca moving back to his right so that she’s in between he and Luis while Emma shuffles a bit closer to him, the crowd pushing everyone around. She smiles at him, this soft little thing that he wishes he saw more often, that he wishes he could elicit from her more often, before turning back to talk to Ruby, her voice quieter than usual, though it doesn’t mean he can’t hear it. He fully expects her to move away, to try to find another place to stand, but as the minutes go on, she doesn’t move.

 

Huh.

 

Today must be some kind of weird day, but he’s not going to complain, not since he currently isn’t sporting a hard on from having her talk to him for a bit.

 

The twins are fascinated with the race, something he knows that they get from Liam, and he barely has to explain anything as they spend most of the time trying to explain things to him, using technical terms that make his chest puff up in pride. Since they seem to know everything, he relaxes, leaning forward on the railing and letting his hands fall over the railing as he taps his fingers against the wood next to Emma’s. She’s got such slight fingers next to his, and her skin is paler, almost porcelain even with the tan she has, and it surely doesn’t help the difference that his forearms are covered in dark hair while he can only see the slightest bit of blonde over her freckles. She’s covered in freckles, really, like a miniature constellation spread out over his arms, and he finds that her skin imperfections are much different than his, the red scars stretching over his wrist and onto his palm far less attractive. They’re more obvious today, something that happens in the sunlight, and for a moment, his mind flashes back to the accident and the awful pain that he felt before he focuses on something else: particularly, the proximity of his left hand to Emma’s right.

 

Is he fifteen years old? He may as well be.

 

She sometimes makes him feel that way.

 

In what he hopes is a sly move, he glances to his left to look at Emma only to see her looking down at his hands, her gaze obvious now that her sunglasses are resting on the top of her head, mixed in with her braids. He almost yanks his hand away, but then Emma’s reaches to cover his, her finger tracing over the red lines. His skin vibrates, all of the hair standing on end, and he swallows the gulp that’s stuck in his throat as he watches. It’s been...no one has traced his scars since Milah, and Emma’s currently doing just that. Why? He has no idea, and he’s obviously in too much shock to say anything.

 

There’s also the fact that it feels so damn good, and he could melt into her touch.

 

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, dropping his hand and grabbing onto the railing. “I don’t know - I - it wasn’t - ”

 

“It’s fine,” he promises, smiling at her to try to calm her down a bit even as his body aches for the loss of her touch, the flames still flickering down his spine. “I was in an accident, in the Navy. We were being shot at, and I was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was an explosion, and my hand got crushed in some metal. Luckily, I only managed to get these gnarly scars when I very well should have lost the hand.”

 

Emma nods her head, her jaw ticking a bit, and he wonders if he’s spoken too much, both because of how much he’s told and how aroused he’s likely making her. “I’m sorry. Thank you for sharing that with me. I - ”

 

“You think the scars are hot,” he teases, hitting his shoulder into hers to try to keep her from bumbling around for more words. “I know, I get that a lot.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“That’s your go-to phrase.”

 

“Uncle Killian, do you have my Sour Patch Kids?”

 

“In the backpack, Luis.”

 

Luis nods his head before shuffling around in his backpack until he pulls out the bright yellow bag that he won after throwing darts at one of the booths. Killian doesn’t think anything else about it as the sailboats circle back around toward them, until Luis hands him the bag, offering him the gummies. He reaches in to take one, offering the bag to Emma and Ruby, before popping one in his mouth and letting the slight sourness melt on his tongue.

 

“You’re like a Sour Patch Kid, Swan. You’re all sour on the outside, but when you get to the core of things, you’re actually pretty sweet.”

 

He hears Ruby snicker, but Emma huffs, reaching for the bag again and taking several more into her hand. “You’re comparing me to sour candy?”

 

“I said you turned sweet.”

 

“That’s a pretty accurate comparison,” Ruby adds in, leaning forward so he can see her wink. He likes the lass now that he’s gotten to know her a bit. Ruby. Not Emma. Though he’s fond of Emma in a way that he isn’t with Ruby.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Well, you’re like the nasty tropical fruit version of Sour Patch Kids.”

 

“Oooh, not your best insult, love.”

  
  
“Whatever.”

 

Hot and then cold.

 

That’s Emma. Just like the damned candy.

 

Sour and then sweet.

 

“Killian, do you want to bring the twins to get lunch with us?” Ruby asks, and he doesn’t miss Emma stomping her foot down on her friend’s.

 

“Can we please get food?” Luca begs, leaning a little too far over the railing for his liking so he has to pull her back. “Can we please? Please? I want a burger.”

 

“Sure, love,” he smiles, switching his gaze between all three ladies while Luis continues to watch the regatta, not a care in the world other than the ocean in front of him. “Let’s go get lunch.”

 

They turn around to make their way back down to the food stalls that surround the regularly standing restaurants only to find that everyone else seemed to have the exact same idea about getting food. But they’ve promised eight-year-olds food, so he, Ruby, Emma, and the twins make their way through the crowd, Luca holding onto Emma’s hand and Luis holding onto his, and after getting pushed and bumped around for fifteen minutes, they finally make it to the little stand that’s selling all of the junk food and is not-so-coincidentally the most crowded. He tries to convince the twins to go somewhere else, but since they’re pretty set on it, all five of them wait in line for thirty minutes before getting their baskets of food and then facing the issue of finding a place to sit.

 

There’s nowhere.

 

Absolutely nowhere.

 

“What about down that way?” Ruby wonders, holding her basket of food and pointing to a little alcove of seats.

 

Emma shrugs. “We might as well try. It’s too hot to sit on the pier.”

 

They quickly wander down the few feet to the new section of seating, and while nothing catches his eyes immediately, Ruby, ever the one to take charge, grabs onto Luca’s hand and starts weaving in and out of the crowd where she finds an empty table...without enough chairs. But it’s likely as good as it’s going to get. Ruby sits down in a chair before telling Luca and Luis to share one, and that leaves...oh, well, that leaves one chair left.

 

At this point, he’s starting to believe that his life may be a bad romantic comedy.

 

He turns to look at Emma, and she motions toward the chair, nodding her head instead of speaking.

 

“No, you can have it, love. I don’t mind standing.”

 

“I sit all the time. I can stand.”

 

“Swan, please, let me be a gentleman.”

 

“So you’re a gentleman now?”

 

“I’m _always_  a gentleman.”

 

“Oh my God,” Ruby groans, tossing a fry at the two of them, “just suck it up and either one of you sit down or share the freaking chair.”

 

If he was chewing on food, he’d definitely choke on it, probably never to be revived. His entire body is already heated from Emma talking and the sun, the workings of an erection beginning even if he thinks he’s controlling himself pretty well today, and Emma sitting on his lap would definitely be a recipe for disaster.

 

Definitely.

 

“I’ll share with you, Rubes,” Emma offers, reaching to place her burger down only for Ruby to shove it across the table.

 

“I’m not letting your bony as - bottom sit on me. Uh, uh. If you wanted the seat, you should have gotten here earlier.”

 

“Seriously? You took Luca and ran.”

 

“Luca and I are just awesome like that. Right kid?”

 

Luca reaches up from her food to high five Ruby. “Right.”  
  


“Just suck it up and share the chair,” Ruby murmurs, dipping her fry into some ketchup. “I swear you guys have so much sexual tension going on you need something like this. I mean, really, you need to sit on another part of Killian, but I can’t say that with children here.”

 

“Ruby! Oh my God!”

 

“What’s sexual tension?” Luis asks, and he seriously contemplates going to dive into the ocean to get away from all of this.

 

“Eat your food,” he deflects, huffing enough and feeling enough frustration that he hastily takes the empty seat, letting the back of his thighs burn a little bit at the heat of it. “It’ll get cold.”

 

“Are you seriously not going to give me the seat?”

 

He looks up at Emma and pats his thigh, a cocky smile forming on his face because as torturous as this day is, it sure is a hell of a lot more fun than he thought it would be. “I did, darling. You didn’t take it, but I am more than willing to share.”

 

Emma pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, her foot tapping on the wood, and when she looks up at the sky, he knows the decision she’s made. “Fine, but don’t be weird about it.”

 

“I would never.”

 

Emma moves her food on the table and slowly settles herself down onto his thigh, her skin under her dress pressing into him and making a warm buzz fall over every inch of him, his stomach pleasantly rolling and his heart wildly beating in his chest. It’s insane how being this close to her is affecting him after weeks of simply texting and writing those damn letters, and if he didn’t need air to live, he may stop breathing.

 

It might be worth it.

 

“I can feel your dick,” she quietly huffs, adjusting herself on top of him while his hand moves over her stomach to keep her still. By now he realizes they probably could have simply had Luca and Luis sit in their laps, and if the smirk on Ruby’s face is any indication, she realized it from the beginning, the crafty lass. Not that he’s going to complain. She’s basically been his secret little helper with Emma for weeks now, always encouraging them to be closer together. It’s probably because she heard him joke about fucking Emma on Granny’s kitchen counter.

 

He leans into her ear, his teeth clenched from trying to live with Emma sitting on top of him, and whispers, “It’d be kind of hard not to.”

 

“Is that a size joke or a hardness joke?”

 

“Definitely size.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Stop squirming.”

 

“There’s not enough room.”

 

“Are you Killian’s girlfriend?” Luca asks, and he nearly breaks one of Emma’s ribs from how tightly he squeezes her into him, making her cough up what must be one of her lungs and the cheeseburger she just took her first bite out of.

 

“No, no, no,” Emma sputters out, hitting at her own chest, and he squeezes her a little bit more then, wondering if he should have made a joke about how hard he is because her voice and her ass sitting on top of him are definitely not the best combination. “I’m not your uncle’s girlfriend. Definitely not.”

 

“You don’t have to act so repulsed about it, Swan.”

 

“I’m not repulsed.”

 

“So you do like me then?”

 

“Oh my God,” she groans, leaning back further into him, and even if he feels like he’s being tortured right now, this might very well be one of the best days of his life. “You know what I mean.”

 

“Do you know how to sail a boat, Emma?” Luis asks, bringing him out of how distracted he is over Emma. God, he likes her, and it’s so hard for him to even attempt to deny that, not that he even really wants to. He’s gotten to know her so much lately, and all of these random little quirks that she has are making him fall harder and harder. Them spending the day together like this is both a dream and a nightmare. “My dad makes boats.”

 

“I don’t know how to sail one, but I’m very good at riding.”

 

He knows that she doesn’t mean it, but at the same time that she says the last word, she adjusts herself in his lap, and it’s his turn to nearly hack up one of his lungs. He might as well hack up both and accept that fate is taking him over because damn, this could not possibly get any worse (better.)

 

“Killian,” Ariel shouts.

 

Okay, it could get worse. It could definitely get worse.

 

“Killian, Emma,” Ariel repeats, moving through the crowd with her nearly eight-month pregnant stomach with more ease than either of them had. When she gets to them, he notices her eyes scan over the two of them, but then again, which one of their friends wouldn’t do that? “Oh my gosh, what are you guys doing out here? You should come into the restaurant and get some air conditioning. It’s crowded, but I can let you sit in the office.”

 

“Hey, A. The kids didn’t want to eat at Eric’s place. No offense.”

 

She waves them away, a bright smile on her face even though he knows she’s seriously hating the latter stages of her pregnancy. They went out and bought her a new chair for her desk two weeks ago because her back was killing her. He’s definitely going to steal it when she’s on maternity leave.

 

His temporary secretary can have her old chair.

 

“No, I get it. Hamburgers and chicken are much better than fish. Are you all going out on the water later?”

 

“I’ve been trying to hint at it to Killian,” Ruby nudges, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him, “but I don’t think he’s gotten it.”

 

“Ruby has never been subtle a day in her life,” Emma quietly says into his ear, her breath hot on his skin as a shiver runs down his spine.

 

“I heard that.”

 

“No, you didn’t.”

 

“Anyways,” Ruby sighs, waving her finger in the air, “apparently we’re dropping the munchkins off with their dad after lunch, and then I’m pretty much going to beg Killian to take us out sailing since he’s the only one who knows how.”

 

“If you bribe him with some kind of fruity dessert, that usually works.”

 

“You are not supposed to use your knowledge as my secretary against me.”

 

“What else am I supposed to use it for?”

 

“Your job.”

 

“You keep saying that like it means something.”

 

He rolls his eyes, unable to stop himself, and he can feel Emma’s stomach move with her laugh, the muscles twitching underneath his fingertips. He still can’t believe that this is his day. But he’s simply going to roll with it.

 

* * *

 

 “Oi,” Will shouts, leaning over the railing a bit too far in a way that makes Killian’s insides twists, “I think we’re out of beer.”

 

“You don’t need anymore, sweetie,” Belle placates as she pats his knee.

 

“I’ve only had the two.”

 

“Yeah, but your personality really doesn’t need the help of alcohol,” Emma teases him as she rises from her seat and adjusts the strap of her dress from where it’s fallen off of her shoulder. “It’s already like you’re drunk when you’re sober.”

 

“Shut it, Swan.”

 

“Creative insult there, Scarlet,” Ruby sighs, propping her legs up in the seat that Emma just abandoned while Ariel works on another bottle of water. She’s gone through at least five.

 

They’ve been out on the water for three hours now, their little ragtag group. They’d tried to get more people to join them, but everyone else was working, unable to get off for the afternoon. Or, like Liam, they’re with their kids. Emma almost didn’t join them, making some excuse about taking a shift so that David could spend time with Leo, but then they’d run into Ashely who had very kindly let them all know that she and August were handling patrol since they are, after all, patrol officers while Emma and David are detectives. Sometimes he wonders about this town’s law enforcement. Everything seems to be all over the place, and yet there is very little crime.

 

He probably shouldn’t think about it too much.

 

So they’d all loaded up onto a rented sailboat, even Ariel despite the fact that she is extremely seasick whenever they’re idling and rocking on the waves, so he makes sure to keep them moving as much as he can without using the engine since they’ll likely be out here for a good while. It keeps him away from everyone, at least a bit, but he’s honestly okay with that. He can join in on conversation whenever he wants to, but he doesn’t have to be an active participant.

 

Which is good because of Emma and what happens when he hears her voice. He really doesn’t think they’d like to give into their desires on a rented sailboat in front of all of their friends. He doesn’t know about Emma, but he’s not much of an exhibitionist. That’s something he should probably know about her, right? He feels like he knows several little trivial facts that make up who she is, which really makes the facts far from trivial.

 

Every part of him is fascinated that she’s so particular with her sweets, especially hot chocolate as he learned, and that she has read more novels than him despite him having several years over her. She’s secretly a history buff, thus her obsession with the History Channel, and she loves running and boxing more than any other workout, though running has been her thing lately. But not in the mornings, as she’s not really a morning person, and she prefers cold weather to hot so that she’s not dying in her jeans and can wear her boots. He also knows there was apparently an incident with karaoke, but he’ll likely never know anything more than that.

 

So he feels like he knows her, knows more little things that he’s discovered through her letters and her texts, and even if he doesn’t know the deep secrets of her past like she doesn’t know his, he feels like the little things are enough to firmly cement the fact that he is absolutely enamored with Emma (no middle name apparently) Swan. It’s obviously a physical thing, a spark that they can’t help, but she also makes him feel almost giddy in a way that he hasn’t felt in years.

 

And he’s still confused by her. Some things never change.

 

_Emma: Are you going to sail us too far away from the shore, Captain?_

 

Killian looks up from his phone to look toward Emma, but she’s not looking at him, her gaze turned toward the sea so that it’s silhouetted around her, her small frame miniscule compared to the vast blue of the ocean. Beautiful. And if her hair wasn’t in braids, he can imagine the curls blowing in the wind.

 

_Killian: Absolutely. How do you feel about England?_

_Emma: Are there more people like you there?_

_Killian: Swan, there’s no one like me._

 

“Are you supposed to be able to text and sail?” Ariel shouts at him while her hands run over her belly. “I feel like that isn’t safe.”

 

“The only way we won’t be safe out here is if we let Will be our Captain, love.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Oh, honey, you know he’s just telling the truth.”

_Emma: Are you sure that’s a good thing?_

_Killian: Absolutely._

He moves his fingers across the screen to text her back, to try to get the conversation to keep going, but his eyes follow her as she gets up, using Ruby’s shoulder as a bit of leverage before she’s walking toward him and stepping up the few steps that lead to where he’s sitting behind the wheel, casually turning them so that they can make their way back to shore since he’s pretty sure that Ariel isn’t going to make it that much longer out here. And he’s definitely not delivering a baby out here.

 

Emma doesn’t say anything, simply sits down on the seat next to him, and he twists in his chair to look at her, pressing his lips into a smile as she seems to be playing with her split ends before her lashes flutter up to look at him.

 

“So I hear that we’re the best man and maid of honor in some impending nuptials,” he starts, unsure of whether or not to talk to Emma, unsure of how much he can talk to her.

 

“Those are the facts, Jack.” He raises a brow at that particular phrasing, and she shrugs her shoulders, her lips parting in a beatific smile. “So Will asked you then? They’re not even getting married until next summer.”

 

“It’s never too early to start planning.”

 

“Considering I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow, I don’t agree with that philosophy.”

 

“Work? Or is that just optional for you?”

 

“Shut up,” she laughs, and the sound sends vibrations down his spine, and when Emma reaches over to slap at his leg, he has to bite his cheek. “I meant besides work. Like, after work. Wait, scratch that. I have to pick up Ariel’s baby shower gift.”

 

Shit. He needs to do that.

 

“Well, then, it sounds like you have plans.” His eyes glance over toward Emma to see if she’s folding her hands together in a fist or clenching her jaw, and when she seems to be fully relaxed, her shoulders not tense and her feet propped up on the dash, he wonders why they’re not as affected by each other’s voices today when they’ve talked more than they ever have. Maybe Emma’s better at hiding it, and something with him is...not working today. That’s not something he really wants to think about. “So, Swan,” he continues, “at this wedding do you think I’ll get a shot at dancing with a pretty lass?”

 

“Eh, I’d say your chances are slim. According to our friends, you struggle to get a date.”

 

He barks out a laugh loud enough that he’s sure all of the creatures in the depths of the ocean can hear him, but none of their friends seem to pay the two of them any mind, all of them continuing on in their own conversations.

 

“That is a subject for another time, but for the record, I have no trouble getting a date. It seems that the only thing I’m interested in is seeing if a certain blonde will dance with me at a wedding.”

 

“I don’t really dance.”

 

“Oh, Swan, all you have to do is pick a partner who knows what he’s doing. Besides, I wasn’t even referring to you.”

 

Emma maneuvers her legs around to kick at him, but he easily grabs onto her ankle, keeping it away from him as he rests it on his thigh, his thumb running over her ankle without much thought. And when Emma doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t stop. They sit in companionable silence as he guides them back to shore, the buildings over Storybrooke coming back into view as the sun sets behind them, an orange glow falling over the water and over all of them as he watches Emma yawn, placing her hands over her mouth while her nose and eyes scrunch up. He’s exhausted from spending his entire day outside, but there’s something about right now that has him never wanting to spend a second wishing that he could be asleep in bed.

 

After he docks, he helps everyone off of the boat, especially Ariel, before they all start moving in opposite directions so that they can go home. He notices that Emma lingers with him, her steps a little slower than they should be, and he smiles a bit to himself at this development that they’ve had today.

 

“For the record,” she starts, kicking at the boards on the dock, “if you asked me, I would dance with you. As long as it wasn’t for a dance where I had to grind my ass on you.”

 

“Damn,” he laughs as he stops his steps, “you’ve foiled my plans.”

 

“I thought so.” Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth, rocking back and forth on her heel. “Thanks for today. It was fun.”

 

“It was my pleasure.”

 

Without really thinking about it, or maybe thinking about it too much, he dips his head down and quickly brushes his lips over Emma’s cheek, feeling the softness of her skin and the slight taste of salt before he quickly pulls back, tucking her hair behind her ear and murmuring a quiet goodbye before she does the same, waving at him before she practically jogs down the docks to get away from him.

 

Maybe. He doesn’t really know, and he’s a little bit too scared to find out. He’s going to try not to question anything about today, even if he already is, and enjoy the fact that Emma’s cheeks flushed red after he kissed her.

 

God, it almost felt like it was the first time, that it was the most intimate thing, but he’s already kissed her once in a way that was much more passionate and intimate than that.

 

Right?

 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Liam questions, a hint of teasing evident in his voice as Killian turns to the side and sees Liam walking down the docks, a smug smile on his face. Of course. Of course his brother saw that. “Did you just kiss Emma goodbye?”

 

“A kiss on the cheek isn’t kissing someone goodbye,” he lies, shaking his head a bit as he takes a deep breath. “I kissed Elsa on the cheek this morning. It’s simply a friendly gesture.”

 

“Whatever that was, well, it was not a friendly gesture.”

 

“Bug off,” he groans as he reaches up to push back his hair, the exhaustion from the day beginning to hit him as he tries to figure his way out of this one. “What are you even doing down here? Where’s your family?”

 

“Elsa took the kids home early, and I was doing inspections to make sure no one damaged any of our boats today. But I’m really rather more interested in what’s going on with you and Emma. I didn’t know the two of you were courting.”

 

“Are you from the eighteenth century?”

 

“Possibly.”

 

“We’re not courting. We’re - ” He hesitates, not sure what to say and really rather distracted by the twist in his stomach that comes from the thought of he and Emma dating. That’s what he wants, what he desperately wants, and even though he’s not sure what’s going on in Emma’s mind, he knows that she must feel some of it. “Shit,” he mumbles under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit.”

 

Liam raises a brow and crosses his arms, something he always does to make himself seem bigger and like more of an authoritative figure. He’s about to use it to get Killian to spill what’s on his mind, but Killian is already halfway there. Before Liam can say anything, though, Killian waves his hand and shakes his head, the disbelief mixing in with the twisting and fluttering stomach.

 

“Let’s go to my apartment. I’m going to need a drink for this.”

 

* * *

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Liam chuckles, throwing his head back as he wipes tears from his eyes, his rum glass nearly full while Killian’s already working on his second, “when the two of you hear each other’s voices, you start sporting a boner? Are you fifteen years old?”

 

“Obviously not. I can’t help it.”

 

“That’s what a fifteen-year-old lad would say too. Why does this happen?”

 

“I, uh.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I can’t tell you.”

 

“Excuse me? Why the hell not?”

 

“I told Emma I wouldn’t tell anyone, back when we first figured out it was happening, and I’ve probably already told you too much.”

 

“Killian,” Liam sighs, placing his glass on the coaster on the coffee table, “something is obviously bothering you, and you can’t just tell me that you two turn each other on for no reason and then not explain more unless...holy fuck,” Liam gasps, slapping his knee while Killian sinks a little further into his couch, “is Emma Swan your soulmate?”

 

Heat immediately rushes to the tips of his ears, which is the opposite of where heat was rushing earlier today, and he wonders if it’s possible for him to melt into the couch cushions. It was a mistake to invite Liam up here, to tell him about the predicament that he and Emma are in. Liam knows him better than anyone else on earth, and he should have known that even spilling a little bit would be too much.

 

The rum was likely a mistake, too.

 

“Yes,” he admits, knowing it’s pointless to lie, before downing the rest of his glass in one gulp, the rum burning him.

 

Liam’s face breaks out into a smile while Killian’s stomach fills with dread, and he doesn’t think there’s ever been a larger dichotomy between reactions over the same fact.

 

“Killian, that’s fantastic. I mean, you were so heartbroken over Milah, over the loss, and if there’s anyone who deserves to have found their soulmate, it’s you. I can’t wait to tell Elsa. We’ve been hoping for this for so long.”

 

“No,” he insists, sitting up and holding his hand out, “do not tell Elsa. You can’t tell anyone. Seriously. No one.”

 

“Because Emma doesn’t want anyone to know? I’m sure that was just when you two first started dating she wanted to keep it a secret, but you two have been spending so much time together. Surely, she’d be fine with it now. This is something to be celebrated.”

 

“We’re not dating. We’re not...we text a bit, spend some time together, but it’s all very confusing. We used to say one word to each other and were ready to sleep together, and now we can have conversations and that only affects us a little bit. I don’t - Liam, I don’t know what’s happening. All I know is that I’m very well falling in love with this woman, and she has no interest in any of that. What am I supposed to do if my soulmate doesn’t want to be with me?”

 

Saying the words doesn’t make any weight lift off of his shoulder. In fact, it makes him feel heavier, his shoulders unable to hold his head up high. He knows that Emma feels some kind of affection for him, that they are getting to know each other, that she’s willingly getting to know him, but not knowing what’s happening, not knowing if Emma is ever going to accept the two of them, is terrifying.

 

Falling in love again is terrifying, especially since he’s not guaranteed a soft landing even when this is the one time he should be.

 

Even thinking the words shakes him to his core.

 

“Killian, I don’t have any great words of advice because I’ve never been in this type of situation before, but if the blush on Emma’s cheeks and the smile on her face were any indication as to how she feels about you, I don’t think you need to be worrying yourself sick over this A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

He’d like to fight for Emma’s heart if she’d let him.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'll notice, I added a chapter! It's the epilogue that I decided to write last week, so I'm giving you guys a few more words❤️

_Killian: But categorically, you cannot tell me that cold pizza is better than fresh out of the oven pizza._

_Emma: Ugh. I’m not saying that. I’m saying that if you get nasty delivery pizza, it’s just as good cold as it is warm._

_Emma: If you’re getting wood fired pizza, obviously you eat that shit warm._

_Killian: ‘Eat that shit warm’ is not a sentence I ever wanted to read._

_Emma: Don’t make it gross._

_Killian: It’s too late for that._

_Emma: I seriously want Ariel to get a pizza oven in her house because I have to put on a bra to go to Eric’s restaurant._

_Killian: I mean, I wouldn’t complain if you didn’t._

_Emma: Again, don’t make it gross._

 

“Are you texting your boyfriend again?”

 

Emma jumps in her office chair, her phone tumbling out of her hands and onto her desk, bouncing around until it lands on top of her computer’s keyboard, jamming down on several keys all at once like a toddler that just got one of those toys that make too much noise when you press a button. That’s not going to mess the database she was going through up or anything. They finally got the funding to computerize their files, so she spends all of her days doing just that. She’s really regretting putting in that request right about now. She won’t in a few weeks, but she does now.

 

(At least they didn’t have to make a calendar or do a bake sale. She really doesn’t need to see a picture of David wearing, like, a “Kiss the Cook” apron and nothing else just to raise a little money.)

 

She also regrets tossing her phone in the air and how quickly her heart is beating. David’s going to see the nerves all over her face, going to see how frazzled she is, and he’ll see right through it. Hell, he pretty much already does. At least he’s a hell of a lot more chill than Mary Margaret.

 

Not like that’s hard.

 

(What, like it’s hard? Elle Woods for the win, always.)

 

Last night she was eating dinner with them at the farmhouse, and for approximately three seconds she looked down at a text on her phone and apparently smiled. She’s sure it was nothing more than a slight curve of her lips, a whisper of happiness, but Mary Margaret practically threw her fork across the table (which is a great way to stab someone in the eye) and demanded to know who she was talking to.

 

It was Killian. It always seems to be Killian.

 

She’s not sure how she feels about that even if she’s admitted to herself that she kind of (definitely, really, truly) likes him. It’s a very odd feeling that makes her soul feel like it’s not connected to her body.

 

She told Mary Margaret that it was Ariel complaining about how much it sucks to be eight months pregnant in the summer heat. The fact that Mary Margaret didn’t call Ariel right then and there and offer up every bit of advice was a miracle. Honestly, looking back, Emma knows that she should have said that she was talking to Ruby about a date that she has. Mary Margaret rarely asks for more details on Ruby’s dates than what Ruby offers up, not that the girl leaves a lot to be desired. It’s one of her best and worst qualities all at once.

 

But Mary Margaret believed her and got carried away talking about the joys and sorrows of motherhood, and if it weren’t for David, she would have gotten away with her lie unnoticed.

 

She feels like a freaking Scooby Doo villain thinking something like that.

 

If only she had a creepy mask to take off too.

 

Or maybe not. That could be weird. No, definitely weird.

 

“I don’t have a boyfriend, and you know it,” she says as calmly as she can, reaching forward and grabbing her phone only to look up at David and the smirk that’s plastered on his face with his hands behind his back. “What’s with the creepy look you’ve got going on there?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“You’re a horrible liar.”

 

“So are you.” He moves his hands from behind his back to reveal a small vase full of yellow roses and whatever that white filler flower is. It’s some weird name like breath of a baby or baby’s breath because that’s totally what a flower should be called. “Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t send baskets of baked goods and flowers to my friends.”

 

She’s definitely going to kill Killian. The word is in his name, so it’s basically fate.

 

Murder should not be where her mind goes.

 

That is probably not the reaction most people have when they’re sent flowers by the man they may possibly have some major feelings for, but she is not most people. She thinks of murder when she should be thinking of...romance? Is that the word she’s looking for? Do these flowers signal romance?

 

It’s all confusing. Seriously. She has no idea what’s going on. She has no idea if there should be feelings of romance or murder or even friendship.

 

Okay, friendship seems like the best option. Murder seems like the worst.

 

“Those probably aren’t for me,” she lies, knowing that it’s a horrible one, especially since David already knows who sent them.

 

David rolls his eyes before placing them on her desk. “Your name is on the note.”

 

She glances toward the flowers and at the note, Killian’s handwriting largely penned across the envelope, before she looks up at David, nerves working their way down her arms. Which, technically thinking, that’s how nerves work, but she was never really very good at biology.

 

“Did you read it?”

 

“I can be an ass, but I’m not going to read the closed note that your not-boyfriend sent you.” David shrugs his shoulders and sits down in his desk chair, rolling it up underneath the desk. “And I’m not as nosy as my wife.”

 

“Which is why I can spend so much time with you.”

 

“You _have_  to spend time with me. Did you notice that we’re missing the hard copies of the files for the Anderson case from two years ago?”

 

“Yep. I’ve already emailed the records office at City Hall to see if they have anything. I don’t know why it would be there, but it always could be.”

 

“If this town ever had serious crime, we would be screwed.”

 

“Hey no, I kick ass. We could totally work that thing out.”

 

“You’d intimidate everyone until they confessed.”

 

“I am a very intimidating woman.”

 

“Who receives flowers from men who are pining after her.”

 

She huffs, not wanting to even respond to that, but she grabs her empty to-go cup from her coffee this morning and throws it at David, hitting him in the back of the head. He doesn’t even acknowledge it, letting the paper fall to the ground and clatter against the tile floor all while he hums to himself a theme song that she recognizes from one of Leo’s shows…which means she’s heard that theme song far too many times since it’s not her kid.

 

Seriously.

 

And Killian Jones is not pining after her. Definitely not.

 

(David knows far too much, but at least he doesn’t know that Killian is her soulmate.)

 

They fall back into work after that since they are technically supposed to be competent professionals in a very loose sense of the word, and she tries not to look at the vase of flowers on her desk for the next few hours, telling herself that it’s not a big deal and she absolutely will not read the note until she’s finished getting through this section of files. She will do her job first…whatever it is with Killian can come second.

 

Surprisingly, working on her computer keeps her busy until her shift is over, and since it’s Friday, she picks up her vase of flowers and holds them in her lap as she drives home, hoping that there’s not pollen or anything to get onto her shirt since she knows from experience that it’s hard to get out. Plus, she really likes this shirt. And it’s not until after she’s changed out of it and into some shorts and a t-shirt that she remembers to check her phone and the note that came with the flowers.

 

The note with the flowers comes first. Priorities and all that.

 

_Swan,_

_So I couldn’t decide between sunflowers and yellow roses. And before you get any ideas as to why I’ve sent you flowers (besides the fact that I imagine whoever delivers them to you will tease the hell out of you. I’m hoping for Dave.), just know that Luis and Luca made me buy a voucher booklet from their school, and the one to the floral shop was about to expire. So it was either you or Will, and Will isn’t quite as pretty as you are._

_I hope they bring a little extra sunshine to your day._

_Killian_

She pulls out her phone and sends of a quick text, unable to stop the small smile that’s formed on her face. Unable to want to stop it, really, as she falls back against the couch, her legs hanging over the end.

 

_Emma: I’m glad you used your flower shop voucher on me._

_Killian: Yeah, well, like I said, the other option was Will._

_Emma: If he comes over tonight, I’ll tell him they’re for him._

_Killian: They viewing apartments still?_

_Emma: Yep._

_Emma: I have ‘All By Myself’ playing on repeat._

_Killian: That’s very fitting._

_Emma: I thought so. Any fun plans for you tonight?_

_Killian: I am wrapping all of the gifts for tomorrow and then going to sleep early to celebrate the near end of summer and my mildly busy season._

_Emma: You are the life of the party._

_Killian: Just wait until the baby shower tomorrow. I’m going to crush all of those awful games. No one can change a diaper as fast as I can._

_Emma: Is that on your resume?_

_Killian: Yep. Liam is a bloody stickler of a boss. The skills we have to have here are insane._

_Emma: I thought you were co-owners? I don’t think of Killian Jones of ever being anything other than a boss._

_Killian: I have that commanding of a presence, do I?_

_Emma: Well, your ego does demand a lot of the space in the room._

_Killian: Luckily for you, I’m happy to share the space so your ego can have a little room to breathe as well._

* * *

 

 When she wakes up the next morning, it’s to the sound of movement in Belle’s bedroom, and she instinctively pulls her pillow over her face. Maybe it’s to cover her ears. Maybe it’s to smother herself over the sounds that she’s hearing in the next room. Who knows? She certainly doesn’t. And as sad as she is to be losing Belle as a roommate whenever she and Will find a place of their own, she is certainly not going to miss the muted sounds of Will’s dirty talk.

 

Seriously.

 

A woman can only take so much.

 

(Belle can apparently take a lot. She keeps asking for more.)

 

Instead of suffering in silent misery, she gets up out of bed and slips into a pair of sandals, figuring she can go check her mail just to get out of the apartment while Belle and Will finish. She and Killian have mostly been texting over the last few weeks, their conversations going deep into the night and throughout the day, but they’re also still sending letters. It’s a weird thing, she knows, and every internal instinct that she has is telling her to burn the letters and run, but something keeps her from setting it all aflame.

 

Someone.

 

She’s lost her mind. She really has. Killian is…he’s Killian. He’s a nice, handsome guy who makes her laugh and causes the bricks weighing down her shoulders to lift one by one until she’s not feeling quite so weighed down anymore. He’s her – they match up well, and she still doesn’t know how to feel about that. She knows how she feels about him, she knows that she likes him, that she enjoys talking to him in the limited way that they can, but then, in the back of her mind that demon comes out and whispers in her ear that he only likes her because they’re soulmates, that the knowledge is tainting their...relationship thing.  

 

That’s been one of her worst fears ever since she found it.

 

Because what if she falls in love and he doesn’t? What if they break up? What if it doesn’t work out? What does she do then? What happens if the one person she’s supposed to be with forever doesn’t want to be with her? Is she supposed to then live out the rest of her life as the poor girl who was too broken for even the universe to help out?

 

The ‘what ifs’ kill her.

 

Not really. She’s obviously still alive and breathing and all that fun jazz, but they still keep her up at night wondering of all the ways this could go wrong. And she doesn’t really know how any of this can go right. She likes sex. It’s a great time, it feels freaking _fantastic,_ but she and Killian can’t possibly live out the rest of their lives wanting to constantly have sex whenever they have conversations. Logistically, that’s not possible. And, like, she knows it’s better now than the first time they met, than the second time too, but every time she spends an extended amount of time with him, especially when they talk, all she wants to do is grab him by the collar again and _kiss_  him.

 

Just without the clothes and all.

 

Definitely without the clothes.

 

If she could put into words how she’s feeling, she’d write it in one of these damn letters and never mail it simply so that she can maybe understand.

 

Understanding is never going to happen.

 

There’s no one at the mailboxes or in the laundry room, so before she even gets her mail, she runs back upstairs and grabs her basket of clothes and detergent, humming to block out the noises still happening, and then walks back to the basement, putting her clothes in the washing machine before getting her mail, taking the one letter that resides there, and propping herself up on the wall of unused machines as she reads.

 

_Emma,_

_I’m going to blame the rum for this letter. I really am. It’s around two in the morning, the moon high in the sky. We’ve just spent the day together, which was bloody wonderful by the way, and I can’t seem to stop thinking of things. Even as I write, it seems rather foolish to put my thoughts onto paper, but hopefully I won’t think to mail the letter. Or maybe I should. I honestly don’t know. This is all uncharted territory for me, and I seem to be diving in headfirst even if I am wearing a life jacket._

_You see, I rather fancy you, Emma (No Middle Name) Swan, and it’s been a long time since I fancied a woman for more than one night or possibly a few weeks. The last time that I did, I had my heart broken so horribly that I retired from the Navy and moved across an ocean. Quite dramatic, don’t you think? I’ve been told that I’m a dramatic ass. That may have been Liam, but it also may have been you. I can’t recall at the moment._

_Her name was Milah. She was beautiful, absolutely stunning, and I loved her with what felt like every beat of my heart until her heart was no longer mine to love. We met at a Naval Christmas ball. She was there with her brother, and I’ll never forget the black dress that she was wearing. We danced, and as they say, the rest is history. But as you know, I’m a bit of a history buff, so I like the details. I imagine you might too. I always knew that she wasn’t my soulmate. I didn’t have a sign, but she did, a simple tattoo on her hand. It was something we didn’t talk about in our three years together until one day we came across a man with a matching tattoo. She didn’t leave me, not at first, but as she got to know him, she fell for him. And who was I to keep two soulmates from having each other?_

_I think that’s what makes it worst of all. There was nothing wrong between us, but she had someone who she belonged with. It wasn’t me._

_So you may think you’re the only person with an aversion to soulmates. You’re not. We all have our issues, our baggage, but I’ve found that since spilling that iced water down your dress (you should wear that dress more often by the way) the weight on my shoulders seems to have lessened. I’m…happier, I guess. I have such a wonderful life, but lately, I’ve had more reason to laugh. I think it’s because of a certain blonde with a penchant for mismatching her socks and junk food that no sane person would ever eat so regularly._

_But who knows? This could all be the rum speaking._

_Love,_

_Killian_

She reads the letter three more times before she truly allows herself to let all of it sink in. It’s been three weeks since Labor Day, three weeks of the two of them going on and continuing to text and write letters – ones other than this one – and yet this one has shown up in her mailbox this morning. Either the US Postal Service really sucks or Killian didn’t send this the night he wrote it. He was likely drunk, at the very least tipsy, but he’s the most well-spoken (written) drunk man she’s ever seen.

 

And he bared his soul to her.

 

Because she makes him happy.

 

_She does that._

 

Her gut feeling is to run, not really sure where she’d run to since this town and these people are her family and she’d never leave them, but she wants to run from her feelings, from the way that her insides unpleasantly twist and the way her heart squeezes. She knows that she feels the same way about Killian, that he makes her happy, but seeing it written out like that, seeing the words in Killian’s handwriting, that’s an entirely different story. And it doesn’t matter that he was drunk. Drunk words are sometimes the most truthful.

 

How in the world is she supposed to handle any of this?

 

Does she push it away? Pretend she didn’t get the letter? Does he even know that he sent it? Does he remember writing it? Should she write something back? What the hell would she write back? How would she even do that without having a little liquid courage too?

 

She can’t get drunk today, not with Ariel’s baby shower, but she really, really wants to.

 

That’s the thing too. She’s not even sure if she wants to get drunk for herself or because Killian’s letter brought back every feeling of abandonment she’s ever experienced. He was left, just like her yet again, and whether she likes it or not, they do understand each other.

 

(Of course she likes it, likes being understood.)

 

Her brain never quite turns off after that, reading the letter over and over again so many times that she might as well have it memorized, and she only knows that she moves because she changes her clothes over into the dryer, cleaning out the lint filter before twisting the knob and listening to it rattle to drown out all of her thoughts.

 

Goodbye shower. The laundry room is now the place to have an existential crisis.

 

But she does somehow manage to turn her thoughts off enough to know that she really does need to shower, so while her clothes are drying, she heads back upstairs and takes one, quickly washing her hair and her body, shaving her legs up to her knees since her dress for today only really shows half of her calves. She’s got three hours until Ariel’s baby shower, but she needs something to do, so she tugs on her dress, letting the blue and white striped print hug her body, and takes the time to apply her makeup, going through an actual routine instead of simply slapping some mascara onto her lashes.

 

Today really must be shaping up to be _a day_.

 

“Why are you already dressed?” Belle asks when she walks out of her bedroom, making her jump at the sight of Belle sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal in pajamas that she definitely wasn’t wearing an hour ago. “And why do you look like a deer in the headlights?”

 

“Oh, I, um…”

 

She tugs at the waist of her dress, pulling the tie a bit to tighten it as she thinks of a lie. As much as Belle knows about she and Killian, she doesn’t know the half of it. She purposely hasn’t told anyone. She can’t. If everyone thinks that she and Killian are flirting and maybe fucking, that’s fine with her. That’s nothing. But if anyone were to know that they were soulmates, it’d make everything far more complicated. There would be expectations and hopes, and if others have those, how could she not? And why can she not figure her brain out?

 

But Killian told her he wouldn’t tell anyone, so no one else is going to know.

 

“I’m doing laundry,” she finally says, knowing that the best lies are routed in truth. “I needed something to pass the time, so I went ahead and got ready. Well, with everything but the mess of my hair.”

 

Belle’s brows pinch together, but she doesn’t say anything else, scooping her spoon into her bowl before taking another bite. “So Will and I think we found an apartment yesterday.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah,” she smiles, nodding her head. “It’s downtown, in that cute little complex across the street from Granny’s with the pink awning. I loved it. I mean, it’s bigger than this place, but it feels very homey. And there’s this built in bookshelf that I think I might love more than I love Will.”

 

“Oh good. That means I can keep the one here.” Belle rolls her eyes, and Emma walks forward to pull out her chair from the table before sitting down. “I’m so happy that you guys found a place. Like, obviously I’m going to miss you, but after the show I heard this morning, I think we might need a little space.”

 

Belle doesn’t even blush. All she does is reach into her bowl and pick up a dried strawberry, flicking it at her. “In all fairness, you never wake up that early on a Saturday.”

 

“I mean, how could I sleep through such a performance? Whatever you’re doing, you’re obviously doing very well.”

 

“You’re going to share all of this at the wedding, aren’t you?”

 

“Oh absolutely. And if you put a little tequila in me, I might even act out my own version of the events.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you’ll get arrested for that.”

 

“I’m on good terms with cops. Where is your partner in crime, by the way?”

 

“I left Ariel’s present at his place, and he went ahead and went home to get it and get ready. You want to drive there together?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

 “Why do you look like you’re dying?” Ariel asks, wrapping her arm around Emma’s waist as she stands in Ariel’s kitchen looking at the spread of food out ahead of her, Max wandering around the table in an attempt to get scraps.  

 

“Because I am. What’s up with the creepy pigs in a blanket snacks that are made to look like babies? Am I supposed to eat those?”

 

“No, no.” Ariel rubs her hand up and down Emma’s back, and if she wasn’t already thinking about the fact that one of her best friends is having a baby while the other is getting married, she’d definitely be thinking of all of the motherly instincts that Ariel possesses and how she has likely never had those even if she thought that she did at one point. “That’s just a weird thing that Mary Margaret brought. I think she saw it on Pinterest and thought it would be cute, but it’s super creepy.”

 

“I mean, like, the creepiest. And the deviled eggs are the same way.”

 

“I’d stick to other foods if I were you.”

 

“Anything not baby related.”

 

“Ah, yes, but save room because I believe there’s a game later where we have to eat baby food.”

 

“Just kill me now.”

 

“It can’t be that bad.”

 

She rolls her eyes and leans her head over to Ariel’s shoulder, wrapping her arm around Ariel’s waist knowing that she’s taking up too much time from the guest of honor, but everyone else seems to be just fine milling around the kitchen and living room, most of Ariel’s regular furniture pushed aside to fit in table cloth covered tables with flower centerpieces sitting in the middle of all of them. It’s cute, and she has to admit that Mary Margaret definitely knows how to host a party, weird food choices aside. But it most definitely hasn’t been the worst hour of her life, especially since she knows every single person here. The only real issue was when Killian showed up because she thought that she was going to have to stop talking, which isn’t the easiest thing in the world when she’s with her friends. But he stayed away from her, making sure to speak quietly instead of being his usual commanding presence.

 

His words, not hers.

 

And mostly she was thinking about how refreshing it is to have both the father of the baby and male friends at a baby shower. She gets that the woman pretty much does all of the work (she’d like to speak to someone about that because it seems fundamentally unfair), but both Ariel and Eric are having a baby. It’s not simply Ariel’s to raise. It’s Eric’s too. And yet most fathers don’t show up to showers, don’t put in the effort, and no part of her has ever understood that. But maybe she’s simply hoping for something that’s better than most people’s reality. She doesn’t know. She never had parents, never got to see it first hand, but when she thought…no, it doesn’t matter. None of that was real, and there’s no use in thinking of it now even if thoughts of Neal have been niggling themselves into her mind since this morning.

 

She’s simply glad that Ariel has Eric, that they have each other and baby Fisher.

 

They have a family.

 

“I’m not eating pureed food unless it’s, like, pureed donuts or something.”

 

“They don’t make pure sugar for infants. That would be a fundamentally awful idea.”

 

“Eh, I don’t think so. The babies would probably be super happy.”

 

“You’re going to be the person who gives the baby sugar right before you send them back to me, aren’t you?”

 

“You bet your ass I am.”

 

“Alright,” Mary Margaret claps, making Emma turn her head to look in the living room, “who wants to play a game?”

 

The game isn’t eating pureed baby food, but somehow it is much, much worse. In reality, she knows that it’s really not that bad. It’s cute and funny, and if she wasn’t who she is, she’d be thankful that this is the game that Mary Margaret picked out because it’s damn fun.

 

Who’s That Baby?

 

She’s got a large board full of baby pictures, some of them adorable, others a little scary (not that she would ever say that out loud), and everyone is having to guess which baby is who. She hasn’t guessed a single one because, really, she’s selfish and can only think about the fact that her picture isn’t up there.

 

And she knows this because, well, Mary Margaret never asked her for one. While Mary Margaret can work wonders, it would be pretty much impossible for her to gather baby pictures of everyone without anyone knowing, so she must have asked everyone to send them in. But Emma was never asked, not at all. Sure, she could pass it off as an oversight, as a mistake, but she knows that none of that is true.

 

Mary Margaret didn’t ask for her baby picture because she knows that she doesn’t have any.

 

Today was not supposed to be emotional like this. Today was supposed to be…a sob suddenly catches in her throat, one she has to force to keep down, and when she feels hot tears forming in her eyes, threatening to escape, she quietly excuses herself from the room, knowing that she won’t be missed if she ducks into the bathroom for a moment. But the bathroom is locked, and since she sure as hell isn’t going to go into the nursery right now, she opens Ariel’s bedroom door and collapses against the wall, letting her legs bend until she’s sitting on hardwood and pulling her legs to her chest as she tries to breathe.

 

Breathing is seeming pretty difficult at the moment.

 

So is not crying.

 

Why does she want to cry?

 

That’s a dumb question. She knows why she wants to, why she’s about to, but it’s been almost eight years. Things like this shouldn’t hurt anymore, should they? She should be over it. She has to be over it.

 

She isn’t over it.

 

Another sob rumbles through her, this one escaping from the confines of her throat, and when she hears it, even she notices how ugly of a sob it is. It’s one of those where she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but let her shoulders tremble and tears fall down her cheeks. The more she tells herself to calm down, the more uncontrollable she gets, the more she feels like she has no control over anything.

 

And then there’s a click, a turn of a knob, and she’s paralyzed in fear and embarrassment that is only exacerbated when she sees tight blue jeans over muscled legs and a simple white button down with small light blue stripes that she knows belongs to Killian.

 

Words don’t come out of her mouth even though she’s got an excuse on her tongue, a pathetic one about being allergic to the weird baby themed foods, and while she expects him to be snarky, he’s not. It’s so much worse because after she takes one look at the raised brow on his forehead, he slides down on the wall next to her, their thighs hitting each other as his arm wraps around her shoulder so tentatively that she nearly grabs onto it and pulls it over her shoulder herself.

 

She definitely has gone crazy.

 

But when she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move away from his embrace, he moves closer to her, his embrace a little tighter, and she can feel the heat of his body all over her as his hand rubs up and down her shoulder while she buries her face in his shirt near the slight exposure of his collarbone and the chain that resides there. He smells like the spice of his cologne, something warm and comforting, and even though it’s ridiculous, that’s what calms her, what makes her stop crying, just the smallest of whimpers and hiccups occasionally escaping her lips.

 

It should hit her that she’s having a meltdown in her best friend’s bedroom at said best friend’s baby shower in front of the man who she has…something with. But honestly, she feels puffy and exhausted, and she’s more concerned with the fact that her mascara is going to ruin Killian’s shirt and the way that his hand seems to be large enough to cover every inch of her as he comforts her.

 

And she focuses on the fact that he’s silent.

 

Well, he was.

 

“You know, darling, I think that you should cry in here a little longer so that Ariel and Eric can get some practice with someone crying in their bedroom at weird times.”

 

She huffs into his chest, rubbing her nose into his collarbone as his scent consumes her. “That’s bold of you to assume that there’s not already someone crying in here on a regular basis.”

 

There’s a thud against the wall as Killian’s head falls back with laughter, his chuckles deep but light, and she hiccups again in response, not really able to do much else.

 

“Now, Swan, I don’t think their sex life is that bad. They are having a baby.”

 

“Believe it or not, an orgasm is not required for conception.”

 

“No, it’s not.” He rubs his hand up and down her arm again, squeezing her bicep before continuing and moving along her back so that his nails trace patterns into her skin. She must be really upset and out of touch with herself right now because they’re talking, and she feels no shivers running down her spine or heat curling between her thighs. Maybe all it takes is for her to be having a meltdown. That makes it even worse. It’s probably just that they haven’t talked enough. “Would you like to talk about what’s got you hiding away in here, or do you want to talk about our friends’ sex life for a little longer?”

 

“Can I have the option of neither?”

 

“No.”

 

“That’s unfair.”

 

“So is life.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes knowing that Killian can’t see it, and maybe that is the reason why she rubs her eyes into his shirt some more. “Aren’t you going to get a boner if I talk too much?”

 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

 

Ridiculous man.

 

(Sweet man.)

 

“I got your letter about Milah this morning.” Killian’s hand stills and his tongue clicks, but she keeps going, knowing that if she’s going to talk, it’s got to be while she can’t control her body and emotions and her tongue basically has free range. “I don’t know if you knew that you sent that, if you did it on purpose or got drunk again, if the mail was just late. I don’t know, but I read it while washing clothes and I hated it. I hated that you were screwed over, that you were screwed over by the whole soulmate thing. I mean, you were in love, and it ended because of what? Because she had a tattoo that matched another man? That’s such bullshit.”

 

“It’s okay, love.”

 

“It’s not. Nothing about any of this is okay. But, like, that’s not even why I’m having a meltdown. I mean, you definitely put me in a confused mood because you talked about your heartbreak and how I’m helping with that, and I – I can’t deal with any of that right now when all I can think about today is the fact that there are all of those baby pictures up on that board and not one of them is of me. Mary Margaret didn’t even ask because she knows that I don’t have one, that no one cared enough about me to take a picture and give it to me. And obviously I’m spiraling because then I get upset about a baby that never even existed. I’m not even one of those people who desperately wants a baby or something.”

 

“What are you talking about, Swan? What baby?”

 

The only reason she has the bravery to say this is because she’s not being forced to look at Killian, to look at the blue of his eyes, and if she can’t see his eyes, none of this is real, right? It’s like the texts. They’re separated enough that it’s not all overwhelming for her.

 

“When I was seventeen, I met a guy, Neal. You’ve probably heard of him from our friends. They’ve never met him, but I guess…he’s kind of a legend in the group. Anyways, we dated for three years, and when I was twenty, my period was late. So obviously I’m freaking out, probably having a panic attack, but then I take a test that says I’m pregnant. And weirdly, I feel calm. I feel calm because, you know, I’m going to have a family, have something I’ve never had.”

 

“Swan – ”

 

“I wasn’t pregnant,” she interrupts, not wanting him to stop her and ask any more questions. “It was a false positive, a cheap test. But I didn’t know that until after I told Neal, and he basically told me that I should have kept my legs shut before packing his bags and leaving to go live with his father in fucking Tallahassee. So I was left alone with no boyfriend, no kid, and a hell of a lot of bitter thoughts because I thought the man was my soulmate and I’d never have to feel alone again. I thought I was done being abandoned. The joke was on me.”

 

She’s not crying anymore, not even sniffling, but she feels cold and stiff and like she can’t really breathe through her nose. Here she is baring her soul to this man who has all of the power to break her, and yet she still told him, still let the words pass her lips are they were spoken into his skin. But he did tell her about himself too, tell him how he was broken too, and maybe that comforts her.

 

Maybe it also comforts her that she knows Killian’s got to be pitching a tent right about now. She’s been talking for ten minutes at the very least with her long pauses and ramblings, and there’s no way that he isn’t struggling. And yet he’s sat in almost silence listening to her and comforting her all the while he wants to fuck her.

 

What the hell even is their lives?

 

And that’s why she starts laughing, a chuckle bubbling up through her throat while her shoulders shake, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile, and she moves her head up to look at Killian even though she knows that she probably looks like a raccoon would after a night out at the bar.

 

That thought is unsurprisingly not the weirdest thought she’s ever had, not even the weirdest this week.

 

“There’s that smile,” Killian encourages, nodding his head and thumb at her chin while his own smile appears on his face, making eyes crinkle. She likes that a lot. It makes her stomach twist in unfamiliar and yet not entirely unpleasant ways. He complains about them only being there because he’s older than her, but she doesn’t mind in the slightest. “The sun would rise early to see your smile.”

 

“But then I would literally get less sleep or have to spend money on blackout curtains.”

 

“I’ll buy them for you.”

 

She chuckles again and shakes her head even as Killian’s thumb moves from her chin to beneath her eyes, wiping away the tears that remain and probably still continue to flow. She feels like jelly or a blob or something else shapeless, something else that can’t be contained. They haven’t been this close since…she wants to say since she kissed Killian on the fourth of July, but it’s most likely as close as they were on Labor Day.

 

Summer holidays seem to be a pattern for them.

 

But it’s nearing autumn now, and her breath hitches as she looks at the scar on his cheek, the freckles near his nose, the long, dark lashes contrasting against blue eyes. He’s such an attractive man, almost so much that it would take her breath away if it wasn’t already gone. She’s not going to kiss him now. She knows that he’s not going to kiss her. But their breaths are intermingling, and she can still feel the warm presence of his hand on her arm.

 

“I’m sorry that you were hurt like that,” he whispers, her gaze flicking up from his lips to his eyes. “I’m sorry that you were hurt by Neal and Walsh and your parents and every other person who doesn’t deserve you and your funny sense of humor and kind heart.”

 

“It’s fine. It was all a long time ago.”

 

“Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger, and it very obviously isn’t fine. You’re having a bit of a time hidden away in our friends’ bedroom, and that’s okay. You’re allowed to be hurt. I wrote you a drunk letter about my ex because I was hurt. I still get angry over my dad leaving and my mom dying. The universe has fucked me over in a lot of ways, but I think it did something right in letting me meet you.”

 

Oh well damn. That’s just not fair.

 

“No one should be as good with words as you are. Like, even your drunk letters were basically professional novels.”

 

He shrugs at the same time that he reaches forward to tuck her hair behind her ear, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down her spine. “I was a wonderful English and literature student if I do say so myself. And for someone who reads as many books as you do, I’m surprised you’re not always speaking in limericks.”

 

“Yeah, well, besides the occasional historical romance, I read a lot of books about murder and mystery. They’re not exactly teaching me to speak like Shakespeare.”

 

“All I got out of that was that you know how to murder me and get away with it.”

 

Emma chuckles, shaking her head as she gently pats his chest, their faces still impossibly close. “I’ve told you before, I’m not someone you really want to mess with.”

 

His brows raise in the way that they always do, the lines on his forehead appearing. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve told you how I quite fancy with you even when you’re yelling at me, haven’t I?”

 

“You fancy my ass,” she deflects.

 

“I am a fan of every part of you,” Killian sighs, rubbing his hand over her back in the way that he does where his hand nearly covers all of her, his forearm pulling her closer. “If that includes your ass, so be it. Though, I always considered myself a breast man. You seem to have converted me to both.”

 

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or completely and totally disgusted.”

 

“You can compliment my ass if it makes you feel better.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she pulls back from him, putting more space between as she moves back to sit a little closer to the bed, her limbs still a little shaky. “I’m not falling for that.”

 

“Damn, I really could have used the ego boost.” Killian stands from the ground, and she’s not at all distracted by the way his thigh muscles look under his jeans. But maybe she kind of is as she doesn’t notice the way he holds his left hand out, the one covered in scars from the accident, until he’s looking down at her expectantly. She takes his hand, the warmth and roughness overwhelming her, and he helps her stand so that her legs are a little more stable. “Do you think you’re ready to go back to the party? I’m sure they’ve moved onto A opening up breast pumps and someone doing something entirely inappropriate with them. How could we miss that?”

 

“I mean, the only thing that could top that would be if there were more weird, baby-shaped food.”

 

“Isn’t that bloody disturbed?” Killian laughs, his face lighting up with joy in that way that makes her stomach twist yet again. Her intestines must really hate her. “I mean, why would I eat that?”

 

“Because it tastes good.”

 

“You should not say things like that. I can’t look at you the same way hearing those words come out of your mouth.”

 

“Hey now.” She holds her hands up before reaching back and tucking the hair that keeps falling in her face behind her ears. “At least there’s not one of those cakes with the baby’s head coming out of a frosting vagina.”

 

“Swan,” he groans, leaning forward and resting his head against her shoulder while his own shoulders heave with muted laughter, “please don’t talk about that. I’m rather fond of that particular area, and I’d rather not imagine things coming out of it.”

 

“That sounds kind of painful for all of your sexual partners if you can’t pull out.”

 

“Well, the baby does have to be made somehow.”

 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”

 

“You can’t say that about everything that I say.”

 

“I can if you keep getting that ridiculous.”

 

Killian laughs once more before leaning back off of her and wrapping an arm around Emma’s shoulder, the weight heavy and comfortable while he opens the bedroom door with his free hand. “Come on, love. Let’s go see if there’s a cake depicting Ariel giving birth. If not, I hear Mr. French takes requests.”

 

Ridiculous.

 

Such a ridiculous man who is making her laugh and feel comfortable with his arm around her shoulder after she just spilled her guts to him about some of the darkest parts of her life. She should feel uncomfortable, awkward, ready to run. She’s been waiting for all of those things since she read his letter. They’re not coming. They could later, but for now, all she can do is laugh at Killian telling her about Liam nearly passed out when Elsa gave birth.

 

In all of this, all that has happened, all that she has revealed, only one cohesive thought truly remains.

 

She and Killian are inevitable, always have been, always will be, and she’s fallen into the trap of liking him much more than she ever intended to.

 

Maybe even loving him.

 

That’s the craziest thought of them all.

 

But she has to wonder about the fact that she didn’t feel aroused once in that conversation when she always thought that was the thread that was holding the two of them together.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

The fan clicks as Killian stares at it rotating above him, the sound mixing in with his television that’s still playing, some kind of infomercial for mixing bowls on, and with the howl of the wind outside. The temperatures have rapidly dropped in the eleven days since the calendar hit October, and even though he’s yet to turn the heat in his apartment on, he is seriously thinking about getting out of bed to turn the fan off. But that would be such effort to move from underneath his covers, to let the cool air hit the bare skin of his arms and chest, so he doesn’t move, can’t move. It’s all too comfortable to stay in bed and hear about how he can buy this new set of mixing bowls for under twenty dollars.

 

He definitely doesn’t need any new mixing bowls.

 

There’s a vibration against his nightstand, and he makes the effort to reach over, letting the cool air cast over his skin for this brief moment, before he’s squinting at the bright screen of his phone and the gray messages that are popping up. His stomach flutters at the sight of it, making him feel like a ridiculous teenager, but that seems to be par for the course lately when it comes to anything and everything that has to do with Emma Swan.

 

She’d slap him upside the head or punch his bicep if she knew that he thought things like that, but, honestly, he’d take the slap with a smile on his face.

 

Now, she’d definitely slap him for that. Probably twice.

 

_Emma: I realize that it’s three in the morning because my phone tells me so, but I just woke up and colored mixing bowls are being advertised on my TV. And I kind of need to know who in the world is buying mixing bowls at three in the morning?_

_Killian: Insomniacs and anyone who works the night shift and happens to be watching TV._

_Emma: Why are you awake?_

_Killian: I needed new mixing bowls, and ordering off of an infomercial is the only way that I shop._

_Killian: Why are you awake?_

_Emma: I was thinking of you in your one night stand’s mother’s bathrobe._

 

He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head from side to side, and shuffles on his mattress, twisting to the side and pulling the covers up over his shoulders as he thinks of what exactly it is he wants to say back to Emma. It’s the oddest thing having to think of what he wants to say to her. Usually, he doesn’t think before he speaks…or texts, really. They haven’t physically spoken to each other since Ariel’s baby shower two weeks ago, and honestly, after he chased after her into Ariel’s bedroom because he could tell that she was upset, he figured that she’d cut him off. He knows Emma, has really gotten to know her intimately over the past few weeks and months, but they have gotten to know each other through texts and letters, not face to face conversations where one of them breaks down and shares their deepest secrets.

 

It’s not like they could talk to each other, not really.

 

For a long time, he thought that they shouldn’t talk at all, that if they did, he’d be entirely too uncomfortable in any pants that he was wearing and he’d be clenching his jaw enough to break teeth. His dental insurance isn’t good enough for that. It was this horrible sense of arousal, this thing that he couldn’t control and couldn’t do anything about, and it honestly felt like some kind of sick joke. But then a sick joke turned into a fun game, one where he could talk loudly to make Emma uncomfortable, one where they could tease each other out on the boat or in the Nolans’ backyard. Hell, they could even make each other uncomfortable (or technically far too comfortable depending on the definition of the word) standing in Ariel’s kitchen making pizza.

 

It was fun. Emma _is_  fun. It gave him this sense of exhilaration to be able to connect with her, to interact with her, and even if it was entirely superficial at first, something inexplicably changed. He’d like to pinpoint it down to Labor Day, to her spending the morning with him and the twins and the afternoon out sailing with their friends, but he knows that it was before that. It was even before kissing her in what had to be one of the most explosive kisses of his life (firework pun completely and totally intended) in Leo’s treehouse while everyone else was watching David shoot fireworks into the sky. But he doesn’t know exactly when it all changed.

 

Not at all.

 

All he knows is that he has fallen in love with a woman who is enigmatic, charming, intelligent, beautiful, witty, and someone who he wants to talk to every day for the rest of his life.

 

Killian Andrew Jones loves Emma (No Middle Name) Swan with every fiber in his being, in a stomach twisting, notebook turning, high school scribbling on papers type of way.

 

It’s the craziest, most unusual, feeling he’s ever experienced, and while he thought that he was too old for all of this, thought that he would never feel love after Milah, Emma has proven him wrong in every single way.

 

She’s…for all of those things that he thinks Emma is, that he knows Emma is, he seems to keep circling back to maddening. Sure, it could go under the enigmatic category, but maddening seems to keep coming back to him. If it were anyone else, any other woman who he’s fancied, he would be sure that she fancies him too from the way they interact. There would likely be dates, phone calls, overnight stays, face-to-face conversations full of laughter and teasing and the occasional serious moment where they shared the depths of their hearts. And he would know for sure where things are going, whether that be a serious relationship or simply sex.

 

With Emma, he has no clue.

 

Because even if she had wanted to, they couldn’t have gone on dates, couldn’t have had phone calls, couldn’t have spoken. They could have had overnight stays, ones full of lust and sex and heated moments that never stopped, and as much as he craved that, still craves it, he mostly wants to know what exactly it is he and Emma are doing.

 

They are soulmates. There is no doubt in his mind about that, and despite the fact that they had a predicament at the beginning, he’s not entirely sure that it’s happening anymore. At Ariel’s baby shower, when Emma was sharing herself with him, when he was getting to learn about the depths of her broken yet still beating heart, the only stirring her felt was within his chest as it broke for her. They’ve both been hurt, damaged, and yet they’re still capable of having all of this love for the people around them.

 

And he’s capable of having love for Emma.

 

While he’ll likely never know for sure since there’s no one to ask about this (he’d like to speak to the manager, thank you very much), he thinks that’s what’s made the arousal stop, what’s made them be able to speak to each other without the uncomfortable awkward twinge of pain and desperation. He’s heard of soulmate signs changing over time once two people have found each other. Elsa and Liam only rarely hear each other’s thoughts now that they’re together, Will can no longer see Belle’s fingerprints on objects he’s touched, and he no longer feels uncontrollable arousal for Emma. Of course, he’s still incredibly attracted to her, most likely more than he was at the beginning because of the emotions involved, but he’s almost giddy at the fact that maybe one day he’ll be able to sit on the couch eating take out with Emma, the two of them talking about their days, and then not wanting to sleep with each other right then and there.

 

A normal spark, really. A normal attraction. Sure, they could decide to screw talking about their days and screw instead, but it wouldn’t be something that they absolutely have to do.

 

He never thought there would be a day where he’s excited about not being desperate to sleep with the woman he loves, but that seems to be happening.

 

Not that he doesn’t want to sleep with her.

 

Because he does.

 

A lot.

 

This is confusing to explain even to himself. How can he possibly say that he’s incredibly attracted to Emma while also not being incredibly attracted to her?

 

It seems nearly impossible, and all he can hope is that Emma feels the same way for more reasons than he can even begin to count. Liam seems to think so from the few conversations they’ve had about the whole situation, and Killian knows that he has to work up the courage to talk to Emma about it all and see exactly what’s going on in that head of hers.

_Killian: I looked damn good in that bathrobe._

_Emma: I don’t believe it._

_Killian: Maybe you’ll have to see it one day._

_Emma: Yeah, maybe. I’ll have to buy some bleach before that, though._

_Killian: To make sure my robe stays spotless?_

_Emma: We can go with that if it makes you feel better._

_Killian: It does. And at least I know that my undergarments all match._

_Emma: You have got to let that joke go. It’s not even a good one._

_Emma: And you’ll still never know the answer. All you get to see are the socks._

_Killian: I like the mismatched socks. They’re charming._

He’s not sure how long he stays up texting Emma, never putting his phone down or away with the speed of her messaging him back. All he knows is that he wakes up with his phone on his chest and several unread messages from her, most of them strange gifs of people sleeping, and he spends far too long trying to find something to send back to her.

 

He would say he is too old for things like this, but then that would make him feel much older than he actually is.

 

(He almost says that he’s hip, but that would basically be him digging his own grave.)

 

Getting out of bed, he reaches up to pull the chain on the fan to turn it off before heading into his bathroom to get ready for the day. It’s chilly enough in his apartment for him to not want to strip out of his clothes, but once he’s in the shower, the warm water spraying down on him, he doesn’t want to leave. Why does this always happen?

 

But he can’t wither away in his shower. That would be a horrible way to die (as would freezing to death, but he has to consider his options), so he steps out of the shower and quickly gets dressed before going through his morning routine, the one cup of coffee not nearly enough for him, especially as Liam keeps texting to badger him about missing their run this morning.

 

It’s too cold, he’s too tired, and he doesn’t want to do it.

 

He’ll get up for it all tomorrow.

 

Maybe.

 

Hopefully.

 

Not definitely. He needs that adrenaline rush and that feeling of his body accomplishing something, especially lately.

 

It’s a quick trip to the office, especially since he drives instead of walking to stay out of the cold, and when he opens the front doors, Ariel is already sitting behind her desk in front of his office with her hair pulled up into a bun and her glasses perched on her nose…that means she had an awful night’s sleep, and he needs to either steer clear of her or offer to take her to lunch. The kicker is that he never knows which one, and he’s taking a gamble on how she’s going to react.

 

He’s got about a forty percent success rate, which isn’t great.

 

“Morning, A.”

 

“Morning,” she yawns, covering her mouth with her hands before resting her hands on her stomach, her belly taking up most of the space behind the desk. She’s two weeks away from her due date, and as much as he’s told her she can start her maternity leave, she’s refused. Stubborn lass. “You look like shit.”

 

“I do so love when women tell me that.”

 

“I try to make you feel as confident about yourself as possible.”

 

“You succeed,” he laughs, pressing his elbows down on her desk as they talk, his fingers fumbling with the chain around his neck. “If you’re too tired, you can go home. You know that, right?”

 

She waves him away, rubbing her stomach once more before adjusting her glasses. “I can work. I like to work, and it’s much more entertaining to spend my day talking to you when I’d be by myself at home.”

 

“This is true. I am a damn good time.”

 

“You’re an okay time. Don’t let that head get too big.”

 

He winks. “I won’t. But you, Mrs. Fisher, are going to go to lunch with me today, and then you’re going to go home and take a nap.” She opens her mouth, and he holds up his hand. “No exceptions. I know you’re not sleeping well, and I also know that you are going to Will and Belle’s engagement party tonight at their new place. There’s no way you’re making it through that with how tired you are today.”

 

“You sure know how to make a girl feel good.” He tilts his head to the side and smiles at her, figuring he’s pushing in the right direction if she’s not too mad at him yet. Offering lunch was obviously the right idea. Ariel sighs, rolling back in her chair as another yawn hits her. “Fine. I will go home and take a nap, so you’re not allowed to do anything interesting without me. Got it?”

 

“I promise.”

 

Unsurprisingly, nothing interesting happens. October is far from their busy season, even if they do get a few requests for upkeep and maintenance on vessels for the holiday season, so he mostly twiddles his thumbs and rummages through his desk, organizing already organized files and pens all the while he lets his phone play music from his desk so he doesn’t actually die of boredom. Liam seems to have the same issue, continuously finding reasons to walk down the hall and pop his head into Killian’s office for no reason other than to tell a story about Luis and Luca or ask if he wants to come over for dinner sometime next week.

 

It’s simply one of those days where it feels like it’s never going to end, and when four o’clock rolls around, hours before their office technically closes, Liam walks through his door and sits down on his couch, the leather creaking underneath him as he completely lays down and folds his arms over his chest.

 

“If I complain about how bored I am today, that inevitably means that Monday will be the craziest day of our entire professional lives, right?”

 

“Navy included?”

 

“Hell no. That’s an entirely different category.”

 

“Then yeah,” Killian laughs, rolling back in his chair and moving his legs up to prop his feet on the corner of his desk where his jacket is about to fall to the ground, “I’d say it’s best not to complain. But, you know, if you did want to shut the place down and let everyone go early, I don’t think anyone would argue that.”

 

“But then what would we do with our day?”

 

“You’re a workaholic.”

 

“I’m kidding, you wanker. Obviously, I’m going to go see the kids since Elsa and I are leaving them to go to the engagement thing tonight. That’s pretty much an entire day without us.”

 

“It’s probably the best day of their lives.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

Killian chuckles and rolls his eyes. Liam can be so dramatic, but then again, that’s likely a family trait.

 

(Definitely a family trait.)

 

“You talked to Emma lately?”

 

He nearly stumbles out of his chair, but he manages to keep himself stable, glad that his computer partially blocks his face since he can feel the heat reach the tip of his ears.

 

“Yes,” he slowly answers, not sure where Liam is going with this.

 

“That’s good.”

 

“I mean, yeah, I think so.”

 

“Still got that _tiny, little_  boner problem?”

 

“You’re asking me so that you can make a joke about me having a small dick, aren’t you?”

 

“Glad to see you catch on quick, _little_  brother.”

 

“I’d say you’re the biggest dick around, but that would be entirely untrue.”

 

Liam barks out a laugh, one that reverberates throughout the room, before sitting up on the couch so that he’s propped up by his elbows. “So should we call it quits for the day? Let everyone have a better Friday?”

 

“Yeah, we should. I’ve heard this rumor that one of the bosses is an asshole.”

 

“I heard that rumor about you too.”

 

Since they shut down the office early and Killian already has Belle and Will’s gift wrapped in his car, he takes the extra hour to run to the bank and deposit a few checks as well as picking up a few of his suits from the dry cleaner, hanging them on the hook in the backseat of his jeep. He’s not surprised by the lack of things he has to do, and like any smart person when they’re bored, he parks in front of Granny’s and heads inside to grab something to eat.

 

Eating while bored: a great idea!

 

The early dinner rush has already started to fill in, everyone settling down into booths and tables with their jackets hanging off the back, but he doesn’t bother to take his leather jacket off before sitting down at a barstool and ordering a lobster roll and some fries as well as a cup of coffee, his lack of sleep finally starting to hit him. He hopes that Ariel got her nap today. He probably should have texted her and asked.

 

“You know, Jones,” Ruby sighs when she hands him his coffee, “coming in here before five doesn’t mean that I can give you the senior discount.”

 

“You’re the funniest person in town. You know that?”

 

“I did, actually. I also have the best hair.”

 

“And the most confidence.”

 

“Exactly.” He rolls his eyes at the same time that she winks. He’s not sure if starting to frequent Granny’s Diner in the past few months is a good thing or a bad thing. That seems pretty consistent for a lot of things in his life. “Do you know if we’re supposed to bring food tonight? Or just, like, the housewarming gift? Because I can easily swipe a pie from here.”

 

“And you’ll pay for it,” Granny shouts from behind the counter back in the kitchen. “You don’t get freebies.”

 

“Your grandmother is a tough lass.”

 

“Very stingy about her pies as well.”

 

“Well, love, all you’re supposed to bring is the gift, but I wouldn’t pass up the pie, especially if it’s a blueberry one.”

 

“I prefer cherry.”

 

He turns on the stool to see Emma standing behind him, her shoulders shrugging out of her red leather jacket so that she’s left standing in a fitted black shirt with her jeans and heeled boots, golden hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves. She looks as beautiful as she always does, and he feels his groin begin to stir in a way that he knows has nothing to do with the three words that she said.

 

“Hi, love.”

 

“Hi.” She smiles at him, a soft curve of her lips, before taking the three steps closer and running her hand over his shoulder, sparks working their way through his clothes until he can feel them lighting up his skin, covering him in the warmth that’s not present outside. “You trying to get the senior discount? Ruby never gives it to anyone.”

 

Ruby groans, shaking her head. “You have to be old to get it. Like, your boobs and a bunch of other things need to be saggy and wrinkly and – ”

 

“Rubes, please shut up. People are eating, and that’s, like one hundred percent insulting.”

 

“Just saying the truth. You want your usual?”

 

“Just a hot chocolate.”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

Emma reaches over to his plate and takes two of his fries, dipping them in his ketchup, and when he raises a brow in question, she simply shrugs, her lips curling into a smile. So she doesn’t order her own food, but she steals his. Good to know.

 

There are so many things to still learn about this woman.

 

“So can I report you stealing my fries as a crime?”

 

“You could, but that would be a waste of my time. Too much paperwork.”

 

“I thought you all got the computerized system?”

 

“Whatever.” She reaches over to take another fry with absolutely no shame. “Why aren’t you at work?”

 

“I could ask the same to you.”

 

Emma still doesn’t say much, simply eating his fries and taking a sip of her hot chocolate when Ruby brings it to her, and he takes the time to try to study her, to see if maybe she’s not as affected by his voice as she used to be. Of course, there’s no obvious sign like there would be with him, but he checks to see if her cheeks are flushed or if her pupils are dilated, all the little things he’s learned to notice in a woman. She’s not showing any signs, none at all, and he honestly can’t decide if that’s good news or truly horrible news.

 

Seriously.

 

What does it mean if Emma is not ridiculously attracted to him?

 

Does it mean that she loves him as well? Could it?

 

Or has she become an expert at hiding everything since they met each other over seven months ago?

 

“If you stare at me any harder, you’re going to drill a hole in my head.”

 

He chuckles even as his hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear, his stomach twisting and his heart beating more quickly now that he’s been caught red-handed. “I can’t help that such a beautiful woman is sitting next to me.”

 

Emma’s eyes roll, as he expects them to, but he also sees her cheeks pink. “Flirt.”

 

“I try. Did you buy those mixing bowls to fill your now empty apartment?”

 

“I also got a new chair, which is going to be the only furniture in Belle’s old bedroom.”

 

He hums in response before twisting in his chair and picking up his sandwich to take a bite, figuring if he doesn’t, Emma’s going to eat it before he ever gets a chance to. Emma ends up ordering a side of onion rings, his fries obviously not enough for her, and they stay sitting on the stools talking to each other and Ruby for the next hour until Emma points out that Sean and Ashley just walked into Belle and Will’s new apartment. He pays for both of their meals before helping Emma into her jacket, the two of them telling Ruby they’ll see her later before grabbing his present out of his jeep and walking across the street to the apartment building, the sound of everyone’s voices already filling the stairway.

 

It’s obvious why when they get to the second floor and see that the front door is open, music streaming from inside and several people already milling around. For as many people are in this town, their friend group is tight knit, especially since he met Emma and Ruby, and there’s not a single person who he doesn’t know or who he has to make awkward conversation with as people begin to slowly arrive, most everyone still in the clothes they wore to work. He’s simply glad that he wore jeans today instead of one of his suits.

 

“You want a beer?” Will asks him as he sits down next to him on the couch, the leather one he recognizes from Will’s old place, and holds out a bottle.

 

“No thanks. You have the worst taste in beer.”

 

“Oi, that’s not true.”

 

“It is,” Ariel teases from her spot in the recliner.

 

He doesn’t think she’s going to move from there all night, like she’s terrified that someone is going to steal the chair and not let her sit back down. That’s a ridiculous thought since every soul in here would let her have a seat, but he doesn’t blame her. Everyone here seems to be pretty stuck where they are. Liam and Elsa are sitting at the kitchen table with David and Mary Margaret, the four of them munching on the tray of cheese and crackers, and Emma is standing against the kitchen counters with a glass of wine talking to Ashley, Sean, and Ruby. Robin, Regina, Victor, and Arthur keep moving between the entryway and the kitchen, going back for food, but mostly everyone is stuck in their little conversations, even if people occasionally move around.

 

“Where’s Eric?” Belle wonders.

 

“It’s Friday night. He’s working, so the closest thing I have to a husband tonight is Killian.”

 

“What the bloody hell does that mean?”

 

Ariel waves him away and adjusts in the chair, her face grimacing. He can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be to be pregnant…and he does not want to imagine that. Not at all.

 

“You look the most like him, and I spend nearly as much time with you as I do with him. You’re obviously not my husband. Thank goodness for that.”

 

“Hey,” he scoffs, kind of wishing that he’d accepted that beer, but he now sees that it’s gone to Belle, “you don’t have to be rude about it. I would be a fantastic husband.”

 

“You’d have to date for that to happen.”

 

He cuts his eyes at Will at the same time that he sees Belle look away, the slightest bit of color appearing on her cheeks. He’s got no idea what that’s about, but he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s about Emma.

 

Does she know?

 

“You’re all hilarious.”

 

“Oof,” Emma grunts, sitting on the arm of the couch next to him so that her hip knocks into his shoulder, “are we making fun of Killian? I want to join in.”

 

“We’re talking about his lack of dating life,” Belle explains as her voice squeaks toward the end.

 

“Ah, yes,” Emma sighs. She leans back and puts her arm across the back of the couch so that her fingers tap against his shoulder, the rhythm random. “Our old spinster Jones. Whatever shall we do with him?”

 

He flicks her jeans at her thigh, and she pinches him in response. The height of maturity.

 

“You’re all assholes. I’m simply here trying to celebrate my mate getting engaged to the love of his life, and here I am being teased. None of you have any humanity.”

 

“You’ll be okay,” Emma mock soothes, and when he looks up at her, she’s absolutely smirking down at her with the soft pink lips that he desperately needs to feel against him again. He’s not actually irritated, not really, but the entire reason he’s not going on dates and openly being in love is Emma Swan, one of the people messing with him. It’s damn obnoxious, and it’s taking everything in him not to mess with her in front of everyone right now. “You’re a handsome man. Love will find you.”

 

A remark is at the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it and says something else. “Swan, if you keep calling a man handsome, he might get ideas.”

 

“Well, like I’ve said, it’s always a bad idea when you start thinking.”

 

“I thought the two of you hated each other?” Will questions, circling his hand around as his beer swishes in the bottom of his bottle. “When did this happen?”

 

“Why would they hate each other?” Ariel seems so genuinely confused by the thought of the two of them ever disliking each other, and he can’t help but chuckle. “They’re always together. I thought they were sleeping with each other at one point.”

 

“E-excuse me?” he coughs, choking on air and leaning forward as Emma pats his back, which really only makes him cough more. “What?”

 

“I mean, I knew the two of you weren’t dating because neither of you are big daters. But then you were spending all of that time together, suddenly you were happier at work, Emma was happier when we went to lunch. I figured you were both just getting laid.”

 

“Oh my God, no,” Emma groans, and he would be insulted by the horror in her voice if he hadn’t just sounded the same way. “We are not sleeping together.”

 

“Stop talking about my brother’s sex life,” Liam yells from across the room.

 

“There’s apparently no sex life to be talked about,” Will shouts back, and he wonders, not for the first time, if he could sink into the couch.

 

Luckily, the conversation moves on, more specifically to Will and Belle, the actual reasons they’re there tonight, and Emma doesn’t seem too put off by the fact that they were teased like that. He doesn’t know what that means, another mixed signal from her, and his stomach can’t seem to decide if it thinks that’s a good sign or an awful one. His heart, however, has definitely decided to speed up to levels that can’t be healthy.

 

That all definitely comes from being around Emma, and he hopes that her little superpower in hearing has disappeared like his has, because he does not want her to hear the blood that is furiously pumping through their veins.

 

As the night wears on, toasts are made and presents are opened with lots of talk about the wedding next summer and the vacation that Will and Belle have cancelled so that they can go on a honeymoon instead. It’s a nice, relaxing evening, and he hates to leave the warmth of the apartment to go outside when people start trickling out of the apartment and down the stairs. Ariel has her arm looped into his elbow as they walk out, her pace a little slower so that the two of them and Emma, Elsa, and Liam drag behind the others on the walks back to their cars.

 

“Does anyone here need a ride home?”

 

“I only had the one glass of wine,” Liam supplies.

 

“Same. Though I won’t say no to a ride. I walked to work this morning and am not feeling the walk home tonight.”

 

“No problem, love,” he smiles, glad that she’s accepting his help. “Elsa, I trust you can get home with your husband?”

 

“If he lets me.”

 

Elsa affectionately pats Liam’s chest before pressing up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and he smiles at them before continuing to walk forward only to stop when he notices that Ariel is no longer walking, her feet firmly planted on the ground.

 

“A? You okay?”

 

She doesn’t say anything, grunting in response.

 

“Ariel,” Emma worries, stepping in front of the two of them to look at Ariel. “Hey, what’s wrong? Is it the baby?”

 

She nods her head up and down, her jaw visibly clenched, and suddenly the chill outside seems to worsen, the wind blowing through and whistling between the buildings as street lights illuminate their paths.

 

“It’s…I…” Ariel is stuttering, her words strained, and when his eyes meet Emma’s, they’re full of worry. “I could be wrong, but I’ve been in a bit of pain all day. I – ah fuck, I think I might be in labor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, cliffhanger much? Not the worst one I've ever written though. lol. This chapter and the next two all happen within 24ish hours plot wise, so we're reaching that climax (figuratively and literally)! And the chapter sixteen is the epilogue! 
> 
> Thanks for being awesome, you guys❤️


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Even though she is acutely aware of the fact that labor can take hours, even days sometimes, the only thing Emma can think about is the horror stories of women having babies in the backseat of cars and the poor, inexperienced husband having to deliver said babies. And while she understands that it’s the miracle of birth and that one day she could possibly experience said miracle despite her hang ups about it, all she knows right now is that said miracle is ridiculously painful and terrifying and, quite frankly, dangerous. And despite the fact that she is an officer of the law, someone who can shoot a gun and give CPR and save lives, she is not equip to deliver Ariel’s baby in the back of Killian’s jeep.

 

The leather is far too nice to get…she’s not even going there.

 

She can’t.

 

(Killian has some dry-cleaned suits back here, though. They would probably be good birthing material.)

 

She loves Ariel, but she’s not sure that she loves her enough to have to go through something like that when there’s a hospital ten minutes away.

 

So she’s definitely not going there.

 

And she’s not going to have to, not really, not if Killian keeps driving at a speed that’s slightly above the limit while Ariel groans in pain in the front seat every few minutes when she feels contractions. They’re going to get to the hospital, and it’s going to be fine. Of course, they can’t get Eric to pick up his phone since he’s in the middle of a late dinner rush at the restaurant, and that’s slightly worrisome. It’s also worrisome that Victor was definitely drinking at the engagement party tonight, so Ariel is currently freaking out about the fact that someone she doesn’t know is going to have to deliver her baby.

 

That or a slightly inebriated man. Not really great options.

 

“To be fair, darling, I never quite understood why you’d have Vic be your doctor to begin with.”

 

“Killian, shut the fuck up.”

 

He glances back at her through his mirror, and she sees his blue eyes widen all the while his eyebrows dance across his forehead in the way that they always do when he’s teasing someone or being playful. He’s not going to be too playful when Ariel murders him. Neither is she since she’s in the backseat and completely at their mercy.

 

“Emma, please tell me you’ve gotten Eric on the phone.”

 

She presses his name again, calling him for the fifth time, and there’s still no answer.

 

Dammit.

 

She tries the restaurant’s line too, but when the teenager who’s working there answers, she tells him that she needs to talk to Eric and the kid very rudely informs her that he’s not available for solicitation.

 

“Emma?”

 

“I’m trying, A,” she pleads, worrying her lip between her teeth before she scrolls down her phone to dial Elsa’s number.

 

“Hello?” she answers, worry evident in her voice. “Are you guys at the hospital yet? Do you need something?”

 

“No, we’re not there yet. Are you and Liam home yet?”

 

“We’re about two minutes away.”

 

“Can you do A, like, a huge favor and turn around and go down to the pier to Eric’s restaurant? We can’t get him on the phone in some kind of weird, romantic comedy kind of way, and I feel like he probably wants to know that his wife is in labor with their child.”

 

She hears Elsa mumble something, probably to Liam, before her voice is back coming through the speakers. “Okay, we’re going to go down and get him from the restaurant after I call the babysitter to make sure she can stay a little longer.”

 

“Thank you. That’s perfect, Els.”

 

“So?” Killian asks when she hangs up the phone.

 

“Liam and Elsa are going to the restaurant to get him.”

 

“Thank, ah, God,” Ariel gasps. “I’m going to kill Eric for not answering his phone.”

 

“Just make him change all of the diapers. Every single one. You will never have to lift a finger.”

 

“Murder seems better.” Emma snickers before leaning forward and squeezing A’s shoulder, rubbing up and down her bicep until Ariel reaches up to hold her hand, squeezing back. “I’m a little nervous,” Ariel admits. “You think you’re ready the entire time, but then you get to that last month and the reality of it all…it’s terrifying.”

 

“You’re going to do a great job, and then you get to meet Baby Fisher. You gotta think about the light at the end of the tunnel.”

 

“Well, there’s certainly a tunnel involved.”

 

She and Ariel both cut their eyes at Killian, but he simply shrugs in response, and turns into the parking lot of Storybrooke Hospital, pulling into the drop off zone.

 

“Emma, darling, will you run inside and get a wheelchair for Ariel?”

 

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Ariel groans, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car.

 

Emma’s doesn’t know what labor feels like, so she’s not entirely sure if Ariel should be walking right now. But she is, so Emma quickly gets out of the backseat, telling Killian to go park the jeep and she’ll text him where they end up if they move out of the reception area before he gets back.

 

Ariel is waddling inside, which doesn’t say much since she’s been waddling for the past month and a half, so Emma loops her arm through Ariel’s and guides her in, immediately going up to the reception desk and asking where they should go despite the fact that Ariel keeps telling her that she knows what to do. Maybe Emma is a little more panicked than she thought she was.

 

At least she’s not going to have to deliver the baby now.

 

If she does have to do that, this hospital system is seriously messed up. That’s probably a box to unpack on another night.

 

They’re given a wheelchair for Ariel even if she keeps protesting that she doesn’t need it, before Emma takes her up to the fourth floor so that they can check in, having to explain that Victor is her doctor but he can’t come in tonight, and they’re reassured that Dr. Pravesh is more than capable. Ariel definitely isn’t too sure about any of that, but there’s nothing anyone can do about it unless Victor sobers up.

 

Tonight was not a great night for Will and Belle’s engagement party.

 

Not that they could have known this would happen. She’s two weeks early, which Emma knows because Baby Fisher’s due date is the same as Emma’s birthday.

 

That’s obviously not happening unless this is a false alarm, and this is a hell of a lot of drama for a false alarm.

 

And due dates are pretty much the most unreliable thing in the world, anyways. It’s an educated guess but usually not a good one…much like a lot of her schooling.

 

“This robe is so uncomfortable.” Ariel adjusts her robe and scratches at her arm, pacing back and forth in the room with her heart monitor attached to her. She really probably needs to sit down. Maybe that’s just Emma. She’s a little overwhelmed. “I have this nice, pretty one in my go-bag at home. Oh I wonder if Eric will stop at home before he gets here.”

 

“Hopefully he will, A.”

 

“I also had a lot of stuff for the baby in there. I had an outfit, a few of them, and some pajamas for me and – ”

 

“Bloody hell was parking hard to find,” Killian mumbles as he walks into the room, brushing off the sleeves of his leather jacket. Damn does she love that leather jacket and the way that it hugs the muscles of his arms over his plaid shirt. “How are there so many people parked at this place? I’m sure all of the patients didn’t drive themselves and – ”

 

“Killian, you talk far too much,” Ariel huffs, sitting down on her bed.

 

“Funny. That’s what Emma says to me all the time.”

 

He winks at her, and she rolls her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. He has the ability to do that to her, and she still has absolutely no idea how she feels about it.

 

Okay, she feels a lot like she loves him, but that is exactly the last thing she’s going to think about right now. She’s got other things to focus on, like the fact that a human being is going to come out of Ariel’s vagina. Because if she thinks about it, thinks about the feelings that she has for him, she’ll also think about the fact that she doesn’t get turned on whenever he speaks anymore. Well, she does, but in a different sense, in that she wants to be with him totally and completely in every single way.

 

But if she’s not aroused by his voice anyone, he likely isn’t either, and maybe the sign that they thought was their soulmate sign wasn’t that at all.

 

Maybe she’s fallen in love with someone who isn’t her soulmate.

 

She can’t do that, not again.

 

This time, she knows it will hurt so much worse.

 

“Well, it’s true,” she awkwardly chuckles, trying to stay in conversation and keep herself distracted from the war that’s been going on in her head and in her heart ever since she realized that she wasn’t feeling that tinge of unfortunate excitement whenever she heard the deep timber of Killian’s voice.

 

It changes depending on if he’s been drinking or if he’s tired, and she rather likes the way his tongue curls around some words, his accent more prominent.

 

Nope. This is what she’s not supposed to be thinking about.

 

Killian doesn’t respond, taking a few steps into the room to lean down over Ariel’s bed to kiss her forehead, which totally doesn’t make her heart swell or anything else ridiculous like that. Not at all.

 

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she pulls it out to check her messages.

 

_Elsa: Eric is on his way to the hospital. Liam is going to take me home to relieve the babysitter, and then he’s going to stop by their house to grab Ariel’s hospital bag to bring to you guys._

_  
Elsa: Everything okay there?_

_Emma: Everything is just fine. We have her admitted to a room. The doctor is going to come check on her in a few minutes._

_Elsa: Good. Keep me updated, okay?_

“Eric is on his way,” she tells Ariel, watching a smile of relief form on her face. Thank goodness. “And Liam is going to go to your house and get your bag.”

 

“Oh can you tell him to let Max out too?”

 

“Sure, no problem. How are you feeling?”

 

“Like a one-hundred-pound weight is pressing down on my uterus.”

 

“Nah, just a seven-pound baby.”

 

“I,” Ariel grunts, sitting up further in bed while her eyes squeeze shut, “am going to make your life a living hell when I come back to work if you don’t stop saying things like that.”

 

He raises both hands in the air, obviously surrendering to her, and she sees him bite his cheek. He obviously had something else ridiculous to say, but has decided to hold back.

 

Smart man.

 

“Knock, knock,” a woman in a pair of blue scrubs says as she physically knocks on the door, kind of making saying the words obsolete, but pretty much everyone does it. “I’m Dr. Jasmine Pravesh, and it looks like I’ll be delivering your baby tonight…or in the morning. It depends on how long we’re in here for.”

 

“Was that supposed to be a joke? Please tell me that wasn’t a joke,” Ariel begs, looking in her direction. How would she know? She doesn’t know this woman’s sense of humor.

 

“Half joke, half serious,” Dr. Pravesh says. “How are we feeling Mama? Is Dad being a big help to you today?”

 

“That is one hundred percent not my husband,” Ariel protests, her voice clipped.

 

Killian scoffs, dramatically placing his hands over his chest as he opens his mouth in mock offense. Ridiculous idiot. “I thought we were just talking about how I’m the closest thing to your husband.”

 

“That was before a baby decided to come out of me tonight.”

 

Dr. Pravesh looks around the room, her eyes widened in confusion as she flicks her dark braid over her shoulder.

 

“Her husband is on the way,” Emma explains, figuring she might as well clear things up even though she’s sure that this hospital sees all kinds of weird relations whenever babies are being born. Families are complicated, and that seems to all come to head whenever someone is in a hospital room with all kinds of wires hooked up to them. “We’re friends who she was with when she started having contractions.”

 

“Ah, okay,” she sighs. “Well, friends, I’m about to do an examination. Do you two want to stay or maybe go spend some time outside?”

 

She looks to Ariel, trying to judge what she wants, but she simply shrugs before speaking. “I know I’m about to bite your heads off, but I’m fine. Why don’t you go get something to eat? I’m sure Eric will be here in the next few minutes.

 

Her eyes glance toward Killian. “You want to go get something to eat, Swan? Maybe a cup of coffee?”

 

“Yeah, sure.” She steps forward to grab onto Ariel’s hand and squeeze, silently promising that everything is going to be okay. “We’ll be back. Text me if you want me back faster.”

 

“Will do.”

 

She smiles once more before stepping out of the way and into the other side of the room where Killian is adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, tugging them down to cover the scars on his hand before he’s reaching up and messing with the chain on his neck.

 

They’re silent as they walk out of the hospital room, a habit the two of them have picked up while spending time together even though they usually end up talking, and it’s an easy elevator ride down to the first floor to find the cafeteria. They run into Eric on the way, his hair pushed into at least one hundred different directions and his eyes a little panicky, and they tell him Ariel’s room number before he speeds off, not even bothering to listen to the rest of what she had to say.

 

Not that she blames him.

 

His wife is kind of (definitely) having their baby, and he’s a good man, a good dad. That much is constantly reaffirmed every time she spends time with he and Ariel, even when Ariel is complaining about some fight that they got in. Those fights are always few and far between.

 

They fall back into silence when they begin walking back toward the cafeteria, but she can feel the heaviness of Killian’s gaze on her as they move. It doesn’t help that he obviously doesn’t know what personal space is and is standing so close that their hands keep brushing and she can feel his body heat practically rolling over her and enveloping her in a way that she imagines it would if he were to hover over her in bed, caging her in as he increased his thrusts and…

 

Woah, where did that come from?

 

She doesn’t – she wants to sleep with him and doesn’t want to sleep with him and is all around confused about the whole thing. And the only person she can even talk about it with is Killian since he’s the only one who understands, the only one who knows about their predicament, their connection. She doesn’t know what she’d do if one of their friends knew and thought they were soulmates when they really might not be. It would devastate her to have to live in her heartbreak while everyone saw what a failure she was again for falling for someone she shouldn’t have.

 

And they’re her friends, both of their friends, so she’s sure they’d encourage them to stay together. But really, as much as she’d like that, what about the hurt that will inevitably come when one of their soulmates come into the picture?

 

She can’t handle that.

 

So maybe she should hold out hope that she’s wrong about the whole thing. She doesn’t know, and for some reason she’s decided tonight of all nights is when she’s going to have a meltdown about it.

 

In a hospital. Standing six inches away from the man who all of these thoughts are about.

 

This must be how everyone in Grey’s Anatomy feels.

 

But about five thousand times more dramatic. Seriously. How do they even come up with that stuff?

 

“Looks like it’s slim pickings in here, Swan,” Killian tells her when they get to the cafeteria and most of the food stands are closed, only a few lights still turned on. Why are things not open at night in this town? Does everything but the Rabbit Hole shut down after eight? “We can have some sandwiches that are likely spoiled or a cup of coffee. What do you fancy?”

 

“Coffee.”

 

“That’s not food.”

 

“No, but it’ll go really well with the vending machine snacks I’m about to go buy. You like peanut butter, right?”

 

“Aye. Why?”

 

“Because there’s always some kind of peanut butter snack in those things.” She gently hits his shoulder before holding her hand out in front of him, his brow raising in response. “I don’t have my wallet. I need money.”

 

“Ah,” he sighs, laughing a bit before digging into the back of his jeans pocket, flipping through and handing her several one-dollar bills. “Be good at school, darling. Don’t let anyone steal your lunch money.”

 

“You’re an ass.”

 

“You say this like it’s a surprise.”

 

“I like my coffee – ”

 

“I know, love,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling while her heart does something similar.

 

Screwed. She’s screwed.

 

She needs junk food. A lot of it.

 

When Killian turns to walk toward the little coffee shop, she turns in search of vending machines, figuring there has to be something in one of these hallways. Hospitals always have vending machines, and sometimes they’re a treasure cove of goodies.

 

She should probably eat out of vending machines a little less. Her metabolism isn’t going to kick ass forever.

 

One can hope it will though.

 

After walking down four different hallways on the first floor, she finally finds a machine nestled behind some bathrooms, and while not the best place to want to find food, at least she’s found something. And they have poptarts, which is peak vending machine material. Would she be a horrible person if she spent all of the money on poptarts and candy instead of getting Killian the peanut butter crackers he’d probably like? Yeah, she probably would, so she presses in the numbers to get Killian’s snacks before getting her own, carrying them all underneath her arm to find Killian in the cafeteria. He’s sitting in a booth with two cups of coffee and a muffin on the table.

 

“They had muffins?” she wonders as she drops their food on the table and slides into the booth across from him, sticking her feet up on his seat next to his thighs. “We’re about to eat a feast when we literally just ate snacks at the party and also food at Granny’s.”

 

Killian takes his coffee in hand and tips it to take a sip, his throat bobbing as he swallows. That doesn’t make her feel any type of way. Not at all. And she definitely doesn’t have flashbacks to the softness of his lips on hers and the contrast of the harsh pricks of his scruff rubbing into her while his hand threaded into her hair and guided her head.

 

What the hell is wrong with her tonight?

 

Why can’t she make up her mind?

 

Probably because she loves him, and that terrifies her.

 

“Aye,” he finally answers, pushing the muffin toward her. “They had some blueberry ones, which I know you enjoy, so I got one. But now I see that you’ve got your poptarts, and I can’t compete with that.”

 

“True.” She taps her foot into his thigh, and his lips curve into a smile. “I can’t believe Ariel is about to be a mom. That’s insane.”

 

“I mean, as you know, love, when a man and a woman – ”

 

“I know how sex works.”

 

“I would say prove it, but I know you’re not about to go for that.”

 

She’s about to say something back, something that would change their non-relationship forever, but then she sees Killian waggle his brows across his forehead, a full smile breaking out on his face, and she stops short, laughing a bit herself.

 

This is so damn confusing. How are they talking? Is he still feeling aroused? His cheeks aren’t flushed, his jaw isn’t ticking. Maybe he’s beginning to pitch a tent, but she can’t exactly tell from over here. And it’d be weird to check.

 

Right?

 

“I told you, Jones, you’re never going to know if my underwear matches.”

 

It usually doesn’t, but she does have a few matching sets that she loves and yet rarely wears anymore.

 

“And I’ll take that tragedy to my grave.”

 

“As you should.” She takes a giant gulp of her coffee, and even though she can taste the creamer, it is awful. Seriously awful. But it’s caffeine, and if they’re going to stay at the hospital when they could go home, she’s going to need some caffeine. She also kind of needs to pee. “I’ll be right back,” she tells Killian, sliding out of the booth.

 

“I shall think of you for every second that you’re gone.”

 

“Don’t be weird.”

  
  
“It’s my natural state of being.”

 

Rolling her eyes, which is her natural state of being, she quickly makes her way back down the hallway to find the bathrooms that were near the vending machines. She passes a few people who have very obviously spent all day sitting in a room with their loved ones and smiles politely before ducking her head away, this entire night kind of becoming too much for her as her mind runs rampant.

 

Why wasn’t she freaking out like this at the engagement party?

 

Why didn’t she get drunk? One glass of wine was definitely not enough.

 

Why does she feel more comfortable about the whole situation when she’s sitting with Killian and he’s making her laugh with his ridiculous jokes and eyebrows and…face.

 

She has completely and totally lost her mind.

 

At least she looks normal, even if this bathroom lighting is awful. Why is bathroom lighting always awful? That should not be a thing. People are obviously going to look at themselves while in a bathroom. Why make them look worse?

 

“Calm down,” she tells herself and her hammering heart. “Everything is fine. There’s no reason to be freaking out. None at all.”

 

There are about fifty-two reasons, but she’s trying to push that thought away.

 

When she finally gets her breathing even enough to leave the bathroom, she makes her way back to the cafeteria only to find Liam sitting in her abandoned spot as he and Killian both snack on the crackers she bought. They’re so similar sometimes that it’s weird.

 

“Thanks for taking my seat,” she jokes to Liam as she slides into the booth next to Killian, their thighs hitting each other as she tries to get comfortable.

 

“I did try to warn him, love,” Killian says as he wraps his arm around the back of the booth. It’s probably because he’s trying to make more room in the small space, but right now all she can focus on is the fact that his hand is playing with the tips of her hair. And his cologne smells really damn good. “She’s not one for sharing.”

 

“I shared all of these snacks with you, thank you very much.”

 

“Darling, I paid for these snacks.”

 

“Semantics.”

 

“And you bought far more poptarts than you did peanut butter crackers.”

 

“Poptarts are better.”

 

“They’re pure sugar.”

 

“Sugar tastes good.”

 

“If I’m going to eat junk, it’s going to be something that tastes better than that. We’ve discussed this.”

 

“And I still think it’s dumb.”

 

Killian chuckles, shaking his head from side to side all the while he pulls on her hair, messing with her. He’s so incredibly close that all she’d have to do is lean forward three inches and –

 

“Are you two finally together?”

 

And then the moment breaks.

 

Shatters, really.

 

Into a million little pieces, each of them jagged and different.

 

She practically jumps back from Killian, moving as far away as possible as she can without getting up from the booth. Killian’s tense. She can feel it in his shoulders, and when she looks between he and Liam, she can practically see the pleading in the blue of his eyes.

 

Why is he pleading?

 

“Liam,” he warns, his voice dark, and she feels her heart drop to her stomach before it starts pounding again, her entire body warm and nervous and she could throw up all of the snacks that she’s eaten.

 

“What?” Liam laughs, taking a small bite out of his cracker. “I think it’s wonderful. You two have been dancing around each other for so long, and there’s no point to it since you’re soulmates and I – ”

 

She doesn’t hear another word that he says, not a one. His lips move, words mostly likely come out, but she can’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears. She tries to focus, tries to be able to focus in on words like she used to be able to do, but there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 

Liam knows.

 

How does Liam know?

 

There should be no way that Liam knows unless…

 

Killian told him.

 

Killian told him when neither of them were supposed to say anything. It was one of the first things she told him, a promise she trusted him with despite the fact she rarely trusts men, and he broke it.

 

And now Liam knows, which means everyone probably knows, but the jokes on all of them because she doesn’t think they’re even soulmates anymore.

 

All she is, all she’s ever been, is an idiot who keeps hoping despite being let down time and time again.

 

Vomit rises in her throat at the thought, and she rises from the booth, her head still a blurred mess, and even though the only things she can hear are her heart and her thoughts, she manages to make it out of the cafeteria and down the hallways, not knowing where to go except for the hallway with the bathrooms and the vending machines.

 

Her life just flipped upside down, and she has no idea how to handle any of it. She didn’t…doesn’t want to handle any of it.

 

“Emma,” Killian calls, his voice breaking through her muggy, clogged mind. “Emma.”

 

“Go away,” she squeaks out, wiping at her eyes as she continues to walk down the hallways.

 

“Emma, what’s wrong?”

 

She flips on her heel, twisting to stare at Killian as she takes a deep breath in an attempt to make her world come back a little more clearly. She can finally hear the hum of the air-conditioning, the buzz of the vending machines, and the water running through the restrooms. But she mostly hears her own breathing as she stares down at Killian and the way he’s got his hands in his hair, pushing it up as he keeps walking closer to her.

 

“What’s wrong?” she laughs, pushing her own hair back. “What’s wrong, Killian? What’s wrong is that you told your brother that we are soulmates when you told me that you wouldn’t tell anyone. You broke your promise to me, and now everyone knows something about my life that I didn’t want to share.”

 

“He’s my brother, Swan.” His lips open before snapping closed again. “I trust him. He hasn’t told anyone.”

 

“But you told him.”

 

He nods, his throat bobbing once more. “Aye.”

 

“Do you know what this does to me? Do you, huh? Now someone else knows, _someone knows_ , which means that I’m under all of this pressure to make this work, and I’m not sure that I can do that.”

 

“You can,” he pleads, stepping closer to her until there’s less than a foot between them, the heat of his body moving closer to her. “We can. Emma, we work. You know that. I know that.”

 

“But you told Liam.”

 

“I had to. I was going crazy. The only thing I got from you were mixed signals. You made the effort to get to know me through letters and texts and full on conversations, and yet, sometimes you acted like I didn’t exist, like you didn’t care about me. That does something to a man, and if I couldn’t talk about it with you, I needed to talk about it with someone. My brother has been my best friend for my entire life, and I wanted to share that I had this huge thing going on in my life. I didn’t want to hide you away.”

 

“Well, you should have, because I’m pretty sure we’ve both screwed ourselves over.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

She takes a deep breath as her heart keeps pounding, and she swears that she can practically see Killian’s heart rapidly beating within his chest too. This is too much. This is all too much, and she lets her fears curl off of her tongue and escape her lips.

 

“We’re not fucking soulmates, Killian, so you can stop trying to be with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you guys really thought the last chapter was going to be my big cliffhanger for the story😘


	15. Chapter Fifteen

The words hit him like a ton of bricks, pushing him down and crushing him under the weight so that he can’t breathe, so that everything is blurred and confusing and utterly heartbreaking.

 

Is his heart even beating right now?

 

He thinks that it is. It must be. And if it’s not, he’s in a hospital. They can fix that, right?

 

Right?

 

How is he being so sadistic right now?

 

Probably because he feels like his world is crashing down around him, that this good thing he had going for him is falling away and disappearing from his grasp before he ever even had time to hold it.

 

To hold _her_.

 

How could Emma ever possibly think that she is not his soulmate?

 

And how could it matter to her when he is so in love with her and would never in his life consider another woman, not when he knows how her kiss feels, how her laugh sounds, what it’s like when she smiles. She lights up his life like the constellations do in the night sky, and that light doesn’t diminish when the sun rises.

 

If anything, it becomes brighter.

 

“W-what are you talking about?” he stutters, his voice struggling to stay steady. “What do you mean we’re not soulmates?”

 

Killian watches as Emma’s bottom lip quivers, her fight between being angry and upset consuming her, and if he didn’t think he’d be pushed away, he’d wrap his arms around her shoulders and hold onto her, let her know that everything is okay. He wants her to always know that things are going to be okay.

 

“Killian”, she whispers, the quiver of her lips matching the shake in her speech, “I’m terrified right now because I don’t think we’re soulmates. We were idiots to think that, to think that we had a sign, and now we’re _both_   going to get hurt again because of it. And everyone will know, and it’ll be poor old us again that everyone pities.”

 

Bloody hell. What is going on?

 

“I still don’t understand, love.”

 

She nods her head and wipes at her eyes even though there are no tears falling.  “I don’t...when you speak, I don’t get turned on anymore, not like I did. You haven’t noticed?”

 

Bloody hell. He knows exactly what’s going on.

 

Killian smiles, something that stretches across his entire face, before stepping forward and cupping her cheeks, feeling the smoothness of her skin under his rough fingertips. She has no idea. Absolutely none. And he’s not sure if he’s frustrated with the whole situation or relieved that he can ease some of her fears, even if he can’t take back the fact that he told his brother. He knew that he was taking a risk in doing that, knew that it wasn’t what she wanted from him, but he has to trust that Emma will forgive him. They’ll have to learn to do that if this is ever going to work out between them, soulmates be damned.

 

But not his.

 

She’s wonderful and captivating and the absolute love of his life even if she doesn’t know it.

 

It’s likely time that she knows that he would make the choice to love her no matter what. This has always been about choice even when he didn’t realize it.

 

“You wonderful, oblivious woman,” Killian laughs, rubbing his thumb over her cheek to wipe away the real tears that have finally fallen. “The more I have fallen in love with you, the more I have become attracted to you and the soul that resides within you. Our idiotic sign has faded away as we’ve gotten to know each other, as we’ve fallen in love. It’s never been as intense as it was on the day that we met. It’s diminished with every conversation we’ve had. Don’t you see? This is how soulmate signs work sometimes, but we didn’t realize it because we were too caught up in the game. Sometimes they’re simply there to help two people find each other, and the rest is up to us. We had to make the choice and the effort to love each other. It didn’t force us into it, into this. And just because the arousal is gone doesn’t mean that we’re not still connected. If anything, it means we’re more connected.”

 

Her lips part and then close again while her long, dark lashes land against her cheeks, little flecks of mascara falling there. “How do you know any of that?”

 

“When you love someone, you know.”

 

Emma chuckles, even though it’s more of a hiccup, and he joins in, an over-exuding joy washing over him even as his heart still beats at a quicker rate, one that really should put him in a hospital bed

 

He has got to stop thinking that.

 

He should be focused on what’s happening at this exact moment. Emma isn’t running away. She’s listening to him, understanding their connection, and that’s what he needs right now.

 

That’s what they both need as the final puzzle piece clicks into place to make the story whole.

 

“I’m terrified,” she whispers as her hands come to clutch at his arms, nails digging into his jacket. “You terrify me because you are kind to me. You understand me. You…you get me, and that scares me because that’s never really happened to me before, not like this. No one else in my life would have ever made the effort that you did to get to know me. Our bodies were literally commanding that we sleep together, and we haven’t. I mean, I know there have been some close calls and that we’ve tortured each other this whole time, but you’ve gotten to know me for something other than my body when I could have easily been a quick fuck to scratch an itch. We could have read a freaking phone book to each other for foreplay.”

 

Killian barks out a laugh, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers, his heart finally calming down, finding peace.

 

“We can’t do that anymore.”

 

“No, I guess not…I understand why you told Liam,” she says, shocking him. He guesses that she’s calmed down, that his words have reassured her and assuaged her fears. Everything is such a blur except for Emma. They could have been in this hallway for minutes or hours. He wouldn’t know. “I haven’t known how to handle any of this either. It’s overwhelming and terrifying, and you obviously have a clearer mind than I do because I’m kind of freaking out right now.”

 

“I know, Swan. I know.”

 

“I don’t know how you’re so sure of everything all the time. How can you be so calm?”

 

She obviously couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating two minutes ago.

 

“Don’t you know Emma? It’s you,” he whispers, pressing his nose into her cheek so that his lips brush over hers, too light to be a kiss but too close to be nothing. “You, even in your confusing madness, make me sure of things. Like you said, I’ve never had someone know me, understand me, like you do. I’ve never had someone choose me like you have. I have never loved someone like I love you.”

 

For a moment he wishes that he was like Liam and Elsa so that he could hear Emma’s thoughts, so that he could know how she’s feeling. He’s laid his heart on the line right here. He’s taken the leap of faith without knowing if there’s going to be a soft landing, but he guesses that’s the entire point of believing in something he doesn’t know.

 

It’s all in the possibility.

 

“I – I love you,” she says on a whisper, her grip tightening on his arms while her lips very nearly press into his, her eyelashes brushing over his. “I don’t know when it happened or how but I love you.”

 

“That’s all that matters to me, my love.”

 

He lets Emma make the choice to press up on her toes and slide her lips over his, connecting them in the way that he’s longed to ever since they were standing in a treehouse with fireworks exploding behind them. He gasps at the softness or her lips, of her body, pressed into him, and his hands slide into her hair so that he can grab onto her roots, holding her to him as her hands move to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, making vibrations travel down his spine.

 

It’s everything and nothing all at once because it all feels brand new and yet exactly like coming home to the place that he’s always known.

 

Emma smells like she has all night, the vanilla overwhelming his senses, and she makes this little noise when he runs his tongue over the seam of her lips that he’d like to memorize. Or, really, he’d like to elicit that noise out of her every day for the rest of their lives so that he never has to go a day without having her be with him like this.

 

He’d like to kiss her like this, their lips tangling together in a mess of heat and love and everything he’s ever wanted in his entire life.

 

She’s everything he’s ever wanted and more.

 

“You taste like poptarts,” he speaks into her mouth, backing her up against the wall as her leg hitches up over his thigh and he rolls his hips into her, his arousal quickly appearing. He’s already half hard against her, and he’s never wanted her more than he does right now.

 

That is saying…a lot considering their history.

 

_Emma loves him._

 

She clutches at his hair as she gasps, canting her hips up into his as she quickly brushes her lips over his once more, this time desperate yet light, a contradicting mess that he thinks describes Emma pretty well.

 

“I bet you like them now,” she giggles when his lips trail away from hers and starts working at the skin at her jaw, making the giggle turn into a gasp.

 

“The sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

 

He keeps kissing along the underside of her jaw, keeps tracing her skin with his tongue, and he wishes there weren’t so many clothes between them, wishes that she didn’t have on this jacket and this sweater, especially as his hands move down the curves of her body until they’re snaking up underneath her sweater to feel the soft warmth of the skin at her stomach. He’s so distracted by how she feels, by how she tastes, that he doesn’t even notice that Emma’s hands have made their way to his ass, tucked neatly into the pockets of his jeans as she squeezes.

 

Damn.

 

“Are you still going to answer to asshole when I call you that?”

 

He bites down, _hard_ , on the juncture between her neck and her shoulder, and she moans, the sound shooting straight to his groin. “I’ll answer to anything you call me.”

 

“Brother.”

 

“Except for that.”

 

“That wasn’t me, Killian,” Emma whispers, tucking her face into his shoulder, her nose brushing into his skin as her hair tickles under his nose all the while he realizes that it was Liam that just called his name.

 

Liam.

 

Holy shit.

 

His brother just caught him making out with a woman in a hallway like he’s a teenager again.

 

“Bloody hell,” he groans, stepping back from Emma and hoping to everything good in the world that his jeans can loosen a little bit. The loss of heat from Emma’s body is immediate, the distance between them vast, but then she intertwines their fingers and squeezes, grounding him again as he tries to catch his breath.

 

This night has been a whirlwind. He’s still not entirely sure that it’s real.

 

“Ah, sorry to interrupt and to…sorry about earlier,” Liam apologizes, rubbing at the non-existent scruff at his chin. “Emma, I hope you understand that I – ”

 

“It’s fine, Liam,” Emma promises, resting her head against Killian’s shoulder while he pulls their joined hands up to kiss her knuckles, thankful for her forgiveness of both himself and Liam. “I…I know neither of you meant any harm.”

 

“Aye, lass, I’ve just, well, I hate to interrupt this very public display of affection, but Eric’s just texted to say that Ariel is going to be in labor for quite some more time. They’ve pretty much commanded us to go home, and I’d kind of like to go tuck my kids into bed.”

 

“Are they sure? We can stay.” He knocks his hip into Emma’s then because as much as he would like to stay sitting in that booth with Emma and his brother, he’d really rather take Emma home. “What?” she laughs, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. “We can stay if we need to.”

 

“I know, but if Eric has given us permission to go – ”

 

Emma presses up on her toes to whisper in his ear, her breath warm on his skin, her voice dark. “Be patient.”

 

“I have been for bloody months now.”

 

Liam is watching them, even if he’s mostly glancing away, and he takes that as a sign that they need to get out of this hallway and move on with their lives, move on with each other. Tugging Emma along with him, they make their way back to the main parts of the hospital’s first floor, going back to the cafeteria to grab their things before they all go upstairs to wish Ariel and Eric goodnight and good luck, promising to come back after they’ve had enough time to love their child without the prying eyes of friends and family. He’s practically vibrating out of his skin every second that he lives, and as on edge as it’s making him, he never wants it to stop.

 

The woman he loves, the woman who loves him, is standing next to his side without hesitation, and he cannot think of a single moment in his life where he has ever been happier.

 

Yet he hopes that he will still have happier moments than this, happier moments with Emma.

 

After they wish Liam goodnight in the parking lot, a knowing, obnoxious smile gracing his brother’s face, they load up into his jeep. He doesn’t ask Emma if he should take her to her apartment or if they should go to his. He knows that she’ll tell him if she doesn’t like his choice. And honestly, he’s not focused enough to let himself overthink things.

 

The drive is somehow longer than the drive to the hospital, everything feeling much more urgent, and it doesn’t help that Emma, the minx, keeps tracing her nails higher and higher on his thigh, palming his erection through the material of his jeans. It’s madness, utter madness, and it takes every bit of strength in him not to pull over to the side of the road and have her in the backseat.

 

Or the front seat.

 

He’s not particular. Except he absolutely is.

 

“Darling,” he grits, glancing over her as he takes a right past Granny’s to ride down the street that will eventually take them to his apartment, “as much as I appreciate what you’re doing right now, it’s either going to end with us crashing or me fucking you in this car.”

 

“I like one of those options.”

 

“I’m sure it’s us crashing since you’ll have to do paperwork over it.”

 

“Not with our new electronic system, I don’t.”

 

He chuckles, unable to help himself or complain about the lightness that he feels, before reaching down to grab her hand, threading their fingers together before he brings her knuckles to his lips, kissing the soft skin.

 

“You and that paperwork.”

 

“It’s the worst.”

 

When he pulls into his apartment, he nearly misses his stop, slamming down on the breaks and sloppily pulling into his spot before undoing his seatbelt and leaning over to cup Emma’s cheeks in his hands and lick into her mouth, a flash of warm heat simmering all the way down his body. She’s barely spoken, and he’s losing his mind.

 

He’s never been so thankful for the two of them to be able to do this normally, to be able to do this right.

 

“You want to come inside, right?”

 

“I want you to come inside.”

 

“Dirty.”

 

“I know,” she laughs, kissing him once more. “Of course I want to go inside. I’ve never seen your apartment, and I have all kinds of questions about it.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Currently? I just want to know if your bed squeaks.”

 

“I can promise you that it doesn’t, but we can test it out.”

 

The walk up to his floor is oddly calm, even with the underlying tension and heat between them, and he manages not to do something that’ll get him evicted from this place. But then he’s unlocking his door, opening it to let Emma step in before him so that he gets a delicious view of her ass while he can tell she’s taking in his apartment in the same way that he took in hers when he last visited.

 

“So the bedroom is just back there then?” she gulps, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it on the couch.

 

“It is.”

 

“Good, she smiles, twisting around and wrapping her arms around his neck before kissing him with absolutely no preamble to her tongue tangling with his and her teeth hitting against him, sloppy and wet and just about everything that he needs to make his knees go weak.

 

Damn.

 

He knew how she kissed, but it’s never quite been like this.

 

Unable to wait any longer, he starts walking her back to the bedroom, his hands on her hips as hers start unbuttoning his shirt. It’s not graceful, not in the slightest. He’ll likely have a bruise on his thigh from where he ran into an end table, but none of that matters when Emma’s laid out on his bed, her hair a halo around her head, and her smile as bright as he’s ever seen it.

 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs as he shrugs off his shirt and his jacket, letting them fall to the floor, and climbs over her as he starts to roll her shirt up so that he can see the firm muscles of her stomach, the ones that are currently twitching with every touch of his lips and press of his hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as beautiful as you.”

 

“That’s saying a lot for someone who has lived as long as you have, old man.”

 

He bits down on her skin in response, not bothering to have a comeback of words. He’s still got so much to learn about Emma and how she functions, so much to learn about her tendencies to make jokes in serious conversations and talk over characters in movies, and he finds that he wants to learn it all just as he wants to learn every inch of her skin. He wants to map out the freckles and scars, the firm muscles and soft curves, everything.

 

When he gets her shirt above her breasts, which as encased in a lovely black sports bra with far too many straps and cutouts, she rises from the bed to take her shirt off for him, grabbing her bra along with it, so he’s left staring at round breasts with firm pink nipples that very well may have taken all of the words out of his mouth.

 

Imagining them after they spent that day in the water with Emma in a bikini is nothing compared to the real thing. He looks up at her for a moment, looks at the way she’s got her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes widened, and it’s that fact that has him pressing up against her, her breasts pressing into his chest, and softly gliding his mouth over hers, slowly, gently, deliberately devouring her as she does the same to him.

 

As much as he wants to take his time, to savor this, to do this properly, he is but a man who has been so in love with a woman for a long time and can’t help himself from kissing back down her neck, lingering around her clavicle, before taking a pointed pink bud in his mouth and reveling in the moan that escapes Emma. Every sound is so similar, yet, so different, and he still finds that he wants to know them all even as his thoughts get muddled with the pleasure inching its way down his spine as all of his blood is rushing to his groin.

 

“Huh,” he whispers as he finally tugs her jeans down, kissing along her stomach and her hipbone to reveal a pair of navy blue underwear that have lacey edges. His chain falls onto her skin, his mother’s ring landing there, a silver glow against pale skin. “So you do match your underwear as dreadfully as you match your socks.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on anyone but me seeing it today.”

 

“I like it,” he promises, brushing his lips above the line of the material. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” she whispers, reaching forward to run her fingers through his hair and tug him up. “Is that kind of insane to say?”

 

“Love always is.”

 

“You sound like a weird philosopher.”

 

“I very well could be.”

 

“Take off your pants, you dork.”

 

“So demanding,” he laughs, fumbling with his belt and his zipper until he gets them undone, shimming out of them until his jeans and his boxers have joined the pile of clothes already on the floor. “I kind of like it.”

 

“Good. Lie down on your back.”

 

He raises a brow at her, but does what she says, will likely always do what she says, and he cannot help the groan that comes from the back of his throat as Emma’s nail traces down his chest, leaving a path through the dark hair that resides there, as she’s kissing his trembling inner thigh.

 

He wants her so much that it physically hurts.

 

Mesmerized as he is, he watches Emma pump his cock, once, twice, three times, running her finger over the tip, before she’s leaning back and taking her underwear off, exposing her to him as completely as he is to her.

 

There are no walls, no barriers, just them.

 

She climbs back over him, brushing her wet core against him, and he nearly dissolves right there knowing that he did that to her, knowing that this is real. She rolls her hips, making him brush over her again, and she leans down against his mouth, kissing along his jaw and whispering in his ear, her voice as broken as he knows his is.

 

“Do you have a condom?”

 

“Aye, in the drawer.”

 

She nods her head against his before leaning over, quickly opening up his bedside drawer, lingering there for a moment before she’s hurrying back down her body and rolling the condom down his length, her touch electric, all-consuming, _everything_.

 

Before he can even fully comprehend what’s happening, Emma has her hands propped up against his chest, her nails curling into his hair, and she’s slowly sinking down into him, her warm walls overwhelming and just right all at once.

 

“Fuck, Emma, fuck,” he grunts as she starts to roll her hips against him, not wasting any time in trying to set a pace that works for her, for him too. She’s mesmerizing, her hair falling down her back in waves as the moonlight shines into his bedroom, casting her in a soft glow. Her breasts bounce with each move of her hips, and he leans forward to grab her hips, to feel her flesh, and help guide her in her movements while he brushes his lips over hers, letting every inch of their skin be touching. “You feel so good, love. So damn good.”

 

“Killian,” she gasps, something he captures with his lips and curls away with his tongue. “Killian, just like that.”

 

He grunts in response, the words escaping him even when he knows that he finally has the chance to use them, and then thrusts his hips up into hers, their skin slapping together while his breath becomes labored and sweat begins to form at his hairline, down his back. Being with Emma is everything he ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed of, and yet nothing at all like what he imagined.

 

Nothing at all.

 

Better. Infinitely better.

 

With less grace than he wanted, he turns them over so that Emma is pressed into the mattress as he fucks her into it, picking up his pace while she hooks her ankles over his ass to allow him easier access, to let him go in deeper. He can feel her nails digging into his back, likely leaving marks, and that spurs him on further as things speed up, the slow, melodic pace no longer anywhere to be seen. Emma’s breaths are shorter, less frequent, and he moves his hand from the sheets to where their joined, rubbing fast circles that make her gasp as he keeps on encouraging her to let go.

 

“Come for me, my love,” he mumbles against her neck, the cold press of his chain in between their bodies. “Such a good girl. Just like that. Keep feeling just like that.”

 

Her walls flutter around him, but he mostly knows that she’s falling apart from the sound of his name in his ear, from the sound of her love for him following it. It may very well be the most wonderful words he’s ever heard, even if he’s already thought that multiple times tonight.

 

No part of him cares.

 

His hips rock faster and faster into her until he feels his own orgasm on the edge, curling over him and consuming him until he falls into Emma, all of the effort and exertion and love coming to head all at once until he falls on top of Emma, trying not to crush her with his weight but unable to fall onto the mattress.

 

“Why the hell did we resist that for so long?”

 

He barks out a laugh as he kisses her neck, rolling over onto the mattress and onto his back, before getting up to deal with the condom and a bit of clean up all as he still chuckles at Emma’s joke. When he turns back around to answer her, Emma’s still laid out on the bed, her legs spread apart, and she’s got this goofy little smile on her face that mixes in with the flush that still covers her entire body.

 

“Because,” he starts, climbing back onto the bed and under the covers, encouraging Emma to join him and tuck herself under the covers and under his arm, her leg pressing between his as her arms wrap around his waist, “you were the teeniest, tiniest bit stubborn, and we resisted the urge even though there were times where I was convinced that we were going to go at it in the middle of the street.”

 

“Me? Stubborn? Never.”

 

Killian lifts her chin up to look at him, thumbing at the indent before pressing his lips to her forehead. “Always, darling. I’m glad we waited anyhow.”

 

“And why’s that?” she asks, toying with the chain around his neck as he runs his nails up and down her spine, still trying to learn all of her curves. They’ve got the time.

 

They have all the time in the world.

 

“Well, if I’m honest, it’s because now, how we are now, I know that I want to be with you because it’s what my heart wants, not just my body.”

 

“Such a way with words. Speaking of that,” she sighs, slapping his chest as a playful smile forms on her lips, “you keep my letters in your nightstand. I saw them when I was getting the condom.”

 

Blush rises to his cheeks even though no part of him is ashamed of that. No part of him at all.

 

“And what of it?”

 

“I think it’s romantic is all. I keep your letters in an old purse in my closet.”

 

“Hmm,” he laughs, dipping his head to kiss her again, knowing he isn’t anywhere near having his fill of her tonight, possibly ever, “well, that doesn’t sound nearly as romantic.”

 

“I don’t think I’m going to ever live up to you. I’m too quirky for that.”

 

“I like your quirks.” He bops her nose, making it scrunch up. “I mean, how could I not like them when you’re someone who has literally never matched her socks in her life.”

 

“That’s not that weird. They even sell mismatched socks now.”

 

“Do you buy them?”

 

“No.”

 

“Exactly, Swan.”

 

He scoots down a little further into the mattress so that his cheek rests against the pillow and Emma’s nose brushes against his, the two of them exchanging soft caresses of lips as his hands traces the curve of her hips, occasionally dipping his hand between her thighs and teasing her. It’s wonderful, all absolutely wonderful, and even though he knows that Emma doesn’t like the word perfect, it may very well be that.

 

But a broken kind of perfect, a better kind.

 

One day maybe the word won’t have such a sting to it.

 

They fall back together, slowly, gently, all at once. He lifts Emma’s leg over his hip and slides into her, slowly rocking into her as his tongue curls into her mouth, the heat overwhelming. They take their time, neither of them in any hurry as the rush of heat doesn’t seem to be demanding, until all of the sudden it is and they’re both calling out each other’s names.

 

The best part about it, though, he thinks, is that Emma holds onto the scars on his wrist, and keeps a hold of them, treasuring him for who he is, scars and all.

 

He and Emma talk, really talk for the first time, and it’s glorious. They get out of bed, if only because his apartment is cold and Emma wanted a t-shirt. He’s trying to hand one to her when she sees the ugly floral nightgown hanging in his closet, and she laughs so loudly that his neighbors can probably hear her. And when she puts it on, tying the band around her waist, he laughs too, especially at the way that she proudly walks around the room, her hair a tangled mess and her body enclosed in his one night stand’s mother’s bathrobe.

 

Only the two of them could have something like this.

 

He fixes them another cup of coffee, figuring tomorrow doesn’t have to be a day where they stay awake, and Emma sits on his countertop asking him about the books on his shelves, the ones that are his favorites and asking if there are ones that are there purely for looks. She giggles when he tells her that Liam has an entire shelf in his home full of books he’s never read, and he steps into her space, letting her legs wrap around his waist and her arms wrap around his neck. Her hands play with his hair, and he quite likes that she does that.

 

He quite likes a lot of things that she does.

 

Rather, he loves them.

 

He loves her.

 

“What is the chain around your neck for?” she asks, yanking it up before she runs her fingers over the cool metal. “You nearly always have it on.”

 

“So you’ve been watching me, love?”

 

“Absolutely, I particularly like your ass.”

 

“Funny, I like the same thing about you.” Kilian dips his head down to kiss her collarbone, running his tongue along the crevice. “The ring is my mother’s wedding ring. It’s not – my parents didn’t have a happy marriage, but it was my mum’s, you know? And Liam didn’t want it, so I took to wearing it when I could. It’s a nice reminder of her and how much I loved her.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispers, dropping the ring and running her hand up and down his arm until their fingers are interlocked, her hand soft and warm against his as they fit together. “I bet she was wonderful.”

 

“Aye, she was the best.”

 

“Will you tell me about her?”

 

So he does. He tells her about how she loves to read and dance and bake, how she loved the ocean nearly as much as she loved her children and how she always told him that the blue of his eyes came from the sea. He always knew that it wasn’t true, but he likes hearing the story regardless. It’s been so long since he talked about his mum, and it’s a breath of fresh air to get to talk about it now.

 

Emma is a breath of fresh air.

 

She’s a breath of fresh air who he takes over the back of his couch, fulfilling that fantasy before they curl up on the actual couch, and watch a documentary on World War One, undoubtedly the most romantic thing to watch. But then again, Emma does have a fondness for history in the way that he does. After a while, sleep begins to call to him, to both of them, but he’s not entirely sure that he wants to succumb, not when he is having a night that he knows is going to be one he remembers forever.

 

How could he ever forget?

 

At five, Killian’s phone dings, and he leans over the bed they’re now laying in to grab it, the screen bright in his face as he reads a simple text from Eric saying Lyla Fisher was born an hour ago and that she and Ariel are both very happy and healthy.

 

“You know, darling, I’ve just realized that we can always remember the day we first made love by little Fisher’s birthday. That’s a story I can’t wait to tell her when she gets older.”

 

“You will scar her for life,” Emma laughs, twisting in bed to sit up on the mattress, the sheets falling around her waist so that her hair barely covers her breasts. “Please do not do that.”

 

“Oh no, I definitely am.”

 

“You’re disturbed.”

 

“You love me.”

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

He reaches forward to pinch her side before pulling her onto his lap, kissing all of the skin that he can reach. “Well, that depends on who you ask because if you ask me, I would say that it’s a very fortunate thing to love me. Really, you’re the luckiest woman on the planet, and I – ”

 

“Killian?” she groans, pressing her finger to his lips. He kisses it, obviously.

 

“Yes?”

 

She smiles softly at him, one that he thinks…no, that he knows, means she loves him. “Please stop talking and kiss me.”

 

He smiles that same smile back. “I could talk to you forever, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the final, official chapter! The epilogue is coming sometime in the next few days!
> 
> I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this story (you guys have no idea), and I can't believe it's over. I hope you guys have enjoyed it as much as I have! Thank you for being so kind to me always 💕


	16. Epilogue

“Killian Andrew Jones. Stop that.”

 

Killian’s head recoils, his chin pressing into his neck and his lips pressing into a straight line as he blinks up at her from his position sprawled out across the bed, black hair spread out over the white patterned pillowcase. Only Killian would own white pillows that have a pattern so subtle that one would think he picked them out without realizing that. He definitely did. He notices everything.

 

“What?” Emma huffs when he seems confused.

 

“I’m sorry, love. It’s just that you rather sound like my mother once did.”

 

“Oh my God, no,” Emma laughs, swinging her legs away from where she’s straddling Killian’s face only for his fingers to dig into the skin of her ass and pull her down closer so that his nose brushes against the sensitive flesh at her core. She hisses, unable to stop herself when that’s such a delightful feeling. “You cannot compare me to your mother when we’re doing this. That’s all kinds of messed up.”

 

Killian smirks up at her, one of those cocky grins that she’s grown so used to even if she’s seen it less and less lately. Really, it’s only when he says something outrageous, something that he knows she’s going to roll her eyes at, and that’s one of her favorite things in the world.

 

He’s her favorite person in the world.

 

One hundred percent.

 

Undoubtedly.

 

Forever.

 

She loves him, but right now, she kind of hates him.

 

“Darling,” he growls, flicking his tongue against her center in a way that nearly has her knees buckle, “I have no idea what you mean.”

 

Her fingers curl into the gray velvet of their headboard, her thighs shaking at just that touch, and she tries to grind down onto him even though she knows that he won’t let her with how he’s holding her up.

 

“You know exactly what I mean.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“KJ.”

 

“Sweetheart.”

 

“Oh fuck,” she huffs, anger and desire and, frankly, amusement running through her. “Killian, we’re having sex, and you keep tickling me behind my kneecaps because I’m ticklish there. That’s evil.”

 

She looks down to try to see his face, only his eyes visible under her breasts and her thighs, and she swears that he’s somehow shrugging with his eyebrows. It’s stupid how he can do things like that with his eyebrows. They’re just little growths of hair. So much emotion should not be able to be expressed in them.

 

“I simply love to make you laugh is all.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

His hands squeeze at her ass again, which is definitely more for him than her, before trailing down her thighs, and she knows where he’s heading before he even gets there, his fingers quickly moving behind her knees as a shiver runs through her and she lets out a painful laugh, unable to squirm away as Killian tickles her like they’re ten years old or something equally ridiculous.

 

“K-kil-kllian.”

 

“I do so love when you moan my name,” he teases, pulling her back from the headboard until she’s crashing down onto the mattress, her vision blurring for a moment while she gasps for breath and laughs, thankful that at least for now Killian’s fingers have stopped moving against her legs.

 

“You’re being so dumb.”

 

“I’m always dumb.”

 

“You just insulted yourself.”

 

“Aye,” he sighs, a soft smile that she sees more often than the smirk appearing as he stares up at her from her stomach, his scruff burning against the skin at her stomach as he slowly drags his nose over her hipbone, inking her skin with his lips along the way. She could sigh at that as well. She does. “I love the freckles you have everywhere, my love. I think I have them all mapped out, that I know every inch of this beautiful skin, but then I discover something new like this little spot here.”

 

“I will never understand how you can go from being so obnoxious to be so romantic all in a span of five seconds.”

 

He blinks up at her, his smile buried in her thigh, before he’s hooking his hands up underneath her knees, no tickling her this time, and spreading her legs wider so that the warmth of his breath ghosts over where she’s so desperately been aching for him ever since he dragged her into their bedroom fifteen minutes ago. She’s all for foreplay, especially the way Killian does it, but sometimes a girl needs some relief.

 

(Okay, all of the time.)

 

“As I tell you all the time, I’m a man of many talents.”

 

And then he’s flicking his tongue against her clit, and all of the nerve endings in her entire body are suddenly right there, the coil in her belly tightening and tightening and _tightening_. They’ve been together for nine months now, at least officially, and in that time, Killian has become an expert in how to please her and make her fall apart under his touch. He knows just how to rile her up, how to flick his tongue against her flesh, how to curl two fingers inside of her and push her further and further over the edge and into what can only be described as euphoria.

 

It’s a fun edge to fall over.

 

Everything is heightened with him. Between her thighs ache, her actual thighs shake as her ankles hook behind his head and her hands thread into his hair, yanking it the slightest bit. He moans, and she smiles. She knows what he likes too, and even though she can barely think any coherent thoughts, she’s not all about receiving. She can do a little giving too.

 

But later.

 

“Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters as his fingers keep thrusting, hitting all of the right spots as he curls them inside of her. “You’ll be the death of me.”

 

“What a way to go, though.”

 

“Write it on my headstone. I died between my beloved’s thighs, and I couldn’t be happier.”

 

“Morbid, but okay.”

 

He chuckles against her, the deep vibrations moving over all of her skin, before he gets back to work, quickly riling her up as he slips a third finger inside of her, unraveling the tight string in her belly so that her orgasm slowly comes to her all the while blue eyes are staring up at her over the expanse of her stomach and the round curve of her breasts.

 

How she resisted those eyes and the man who they belong to for so long is a mystery she cannot solve, but honestly, she wouldn’t change a single thing about their story. She’s always rejected the idea of things being meant to be, of being fated, and she likes to think that they made their own fate in choosing to be with each other instead of simply falling into bed that first day.

 

It’s all about the choice.

 

And they’ve had plenty of time to make up for everything else.

 

Sex is better when she’s in love, and she is so in love that Mary Margaret Nolan sometimes can’t even live up to the doe eyes and lingering glances that Emma pulls whenever Killian is around.

 

Anyone who knows Mary Margaret knows that is saying something.

 

With her legs still shivering, Killian pulls back from her, the loss of heat immediate, and she thinks he’s going to take off his pants only for him to lean over her and quickly press his lips into hers before rising from the bed and backing away.

 

“Um, where do you think you’re going?”

 

“We’ve a wedding to go to, love.”

 

She rolls over on the bed, her body still a quivering mess, and sits up on the edge of the mattress, the cool metal of Killian’s mom’s ring falling between her breasts. “KJ, we have plenty of time. We don’t have to be at the venue until noon, and it’s barely past ten.”

 

Killian shakes his head from side to side and adjusts his pajama pants to pull them up further on his hips so that the dip of his treasure trail fades away. Whoever named that a treasure trail was a very smart person because it is, indeed, a treasure.

 

(Okay, so she’s definitely still horny.)

 

“You still have to take a shower and dry your hair before we go. I’m guessing you probably have to shave as well from all of the hair I just felt on your legs. That’s going to take you a bit of time.”

 

“I hate when you’re right.”

 

“I know,” he chuckles, stepping into her space so that she can knock her knees into his while she stares up at him. “Go take a shower, Swan. I’ll take mine after you.”

 

“We could take one together. Save the planet and conserve water and all that.”

 

“No, no, no. We will never get out of the apartment if we do that.”

 

Her shoulders heave, resignation settling in, before she leans back against the bed and rolls over, not-so-gracefully standing up. “Aren’t you so glad you asked me to move in with you? I’m a dream to live with.”

 

“More like a nightmare.” She picks up a rolled pair of socks from the dresser and chunks them at him. He easily catches them because he always does. “I’m merely teasing, darling. I adore living with you and getting to look at you every day. I love talking to you too. That’s such a perk.”

 

It most definitely is.

 

Talking to Killian, being able to without any weird side effects that make her want to jump Jones’s bones, is one of the greatest things in the world. Besides, she doesn’t need anything extra to make her be attracted to him. Loving him makes that pretty easy.

 

“Very true,” she smiles, winking at him. “Alright, I’m going to go take my shower. Belle and Will love us, but they will not be okay with us being late to their wedding.”

 

* * *

 

“You are the most beautiful woman in this room,” Killian whispers in her ear as they sway back and forth to the soft music playing over the speakers, her bare feet aching against the wood floor and making her forehead only come up the lapels of Killian’s suit jacket that he’s somehow still wearing even though all the other guys shred theirs everywhere.

 

Her stomach flutters at his words, at the gravely tone with which he says them, and she buries her nose into the opening of his shirt in response, breathing in the warm spice of his cologne. He’s still got the jacket on, but the bowtie is loosely hung around his neck, the top three buttons of his shirt undone. She’s got a weird thing for Killian having his bowtie undone and wrapped around his neck, his white shirt slightly damp from sweat and his perfectly styled hair now a little messy, fringe hanging over his forehead.

 

He’s the most beautiful man in this room. Probably the entire town. She’s not biased at all.

 

“You’re not supposed to say that when it’s another woman’s wedding day.”

 

Killian hums against the top of her head, his lips pressing into her temple. “Belle and Will are long gone, darling. It’s just you and me, the rest of the wedding party, and Leroy sitting at the bar.”

 

She lifts her head the slightest bit to look around, curious as to what everyone else is doing, and she sees Liam and Elsa sitting down at a table lost deep in conversation as they usually are when it winds up being just the two of them. She’s really gotten to know them better over the last few months, Liam especially, and it’s been a wonderful new addition to her life. He’s this very stereotypical big brother, something she knew but didn’t really understand until she saw it on a nearly daily basis with how he and Killian interact, and it makes her smile that Killian has that even when he’s in his mid-thirties.

 

The Jones brothers are such huge parts of her life, and she could have never guessed that was going to happen. Killian told her that when he told Liam about their connection, their sign, Liam tilted his head back and just laughed, disbelief and joy written all over his face. She still can’t believe she was so pissed at him for knowing when he’s been nothing but supportive and helpful.

 

Hindsight is everything.

 

Having faith in she and Killian, in their relationship, makes her a lot surer and more comfortable with the fact that others know about the fact that Killian is her soulmate.

 

It’s been the same with everyone. She didn’t want to tell everyone (anyone) at first. They were in this happy little bubble of talking and sex and talking and sex and, well, talking during sex. It was everything she wanted, everything she’d never allowed herself to have before, and she would have been perfectly happy to keep it under the covers of Killian’s bed as his hands and mouth explored every inch of her skin all the while they finally got to talk about everything they hadn’t dared say before.

 

Life couldn’t be lived between the sheets, though, and eventually they did tell their friends and family. Elsa had blushed, her pale cheeks turning red as she laughed and told them congratulations, her mind not quite able to wrap around the whole situation. Belle had been the same way, but there was this knowing glint in her eye that made Emma think that maybe she somehow knew. It was the same with David, which made sense considering they were the two people who witnessed most of she and Killian’s childish teases and taunts and, well, flirting. They were flirting that entire time.

 

Obviously.

 

Who sends notes and bread baskets and sits on each other’s laps when they’re not flirting?

 

Not the two of them.

 

(Flirting is one of the greatest things in the world, she’s discovered, and it’s on her mental list of things to do every day.)

 

Mary Margaret had cried, of course, completely and totally overwhelmed by the fact that Emma had a soulmate and someone to love and be loved by. Such an overemotional sap. Ariel, well, Ariel laughed in their faces and told them that it wasn’t nice to mess with someone who had given birth four weeks ago by telling her that their soulmate sign started off by them getting aroused by each other’s voices standing in her kitchen. Then she realized they were telling the truth, laughed again, and didn’t stop for a solid fifteen minutes before she decided to dissect every single interaction she’d ever seen the two of them have like some kind of road map of them falling in love.

 

“I’m going to have to make sure she doesn’t have such unfiltered access to my life,” Killian had laughed as they left Ariel’s house after spending some time with her and getting to hold Lyla.

 

(Luis, Luca, Leo, and Lyla. Those are four out of five kids Emma has in her life, and she really needs to talk to her friends about the other letters in the alphabet.)

 

Emma twists her head to the other side of the room to see Ruby chatting up the DJ, either flirting for the sake of flirting or flirting to try to convince her to play a song that Will and Belle put on the list of songs that they didn’t want played.

 

When they told Will and Belle, after Belle had calmly taken it all in, Will sat in shocked silence, his lips opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. It was the first time she’d ever seen him speechless, and of course it didn’t last long.

 

“Is that what all of the damn letters were?” he questioned. “You were trying not to fuck, so you wrote letters to each other. Hell, I’d have just talked while Belle was on top of me. More power to the two of you for actually getting to know each other like that.”

 

That had earned him a slap, but it wouldn’t be Will if they didn’t groan at every other word that he said.

 

Her favorite reaction, though, was most definitely Ruby.

 

“Are you freaking kidding me?” she’d gasped, slamming her hand down on the counter at Granny’s and making Emma’s hot chocolate shake. “You two were magically turned on just by saying a word, and you didn’t take advantage of that? Oh my God. I would kill for that. Men are horrible at foreplay, and you didn’t even need it. And now what? Now you’re not turned on anymore so you actually have to work for it? That’s a screwed-up sign, but you’ve at least got to take advantage of it. That was wasted on the two of you. For two people who are so damn hot, you should have fucked like you were trying to repopulate the entire town.”

 

Killian had wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they left the diner that afternoon, smiles on both of their faces from all of Ruby’s follow-up questions, and tugged her closer as he whispered in her ear. “We had seven months of _excellent_   foreplay, and for the record, I am excellent at it.”

 

He is.

 

When she turns back to Killian as they dance, he’s smiling down at her, the eye crinkles that she loves so much making an appearance, and she presses up on her toes to kiss him simply because she can. “You want to go home then?”

 

“I thought you’d never ask. You’re wearing matching underwear today, and I want to take full advantage of that.”

 

* * *

 

 When Emma wakes the next morning, it’s to the slightest sliver of sunlight peeking through the curtains and the sheets next to her feeling cold as ice. As she registers that next bit, she runs her hand over Killian’s spot again, somehow hoping that he’s simply going to reappear, but he doesn’t. This is disappointing, but it’s not any cause for alarm since he does usually get up before her, so she simply rolls over takes hold of his pillow, burying her face in the soft material that smells like him.

 

And then she feels the sharp paper edge of an envelope.

 

It’s not an unfamiliar thing for her to wake up to envelopes, to find one sitting over her coffee mug, or even to have one slipped into the lunch she takes to work. It’s actually a pretty familiar one, especially since they moved in together and Killian has such easy access to delivering his letters. He was very obviously tired of having to pay for her stamps so she’ll write him back.

 

She writes him back every time.

 

Sometimes she even writes him first.

 

They can say everything out loud, but that’s not always necessary when they have this way of communication as well. These letters can be preserved forever, and they are, in a box sitting in Killian’s bedside drawer just like where she found them the first time they slept together.

 

Cheesy, sentimental fools that they are.

 

Slowly, she opens up the letter, noticing that this one is actually sealed instead of simply being tucked in, and begins reading.

 

_My love,_

_I know, I know. It’s too early in the morning for you to be reading. You haven’t had your coffee or anything to eat made in one our infomercial mixing bowls, and you definitely haven’t had time to scroll through your phone like you always do. You likely woke up, rolled over onto your side, and stretched out your arm to find me only to find this letter. I love that you do that, by the way, even when you unintentionally slap me. I like that you’re seeking me out as I seek you out always._

_I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, probably much longer than I had any right to, and while I’ve rehearsed the words over and over in my head, they’re coming out a bit differently now that I’ve actually sat down to pen them. You looked so beautiful last night in your emerald dress. It accentuated your curves and your breasts and God, love, your eyes. I cannot even begin to tell you how much I love your eyes and the way they light up when you’re happy. I love the way they widen only to become smaller when your smile is so overpowering that it takes up your entire face._

_Seeing you smile is the highlight of my day every time, even when I’m cross with you, my little Sour Patch Kid. Sour and sweet all at once._

_For so long, I couldn’t talk to you. You and I both know why. The world has a cruel sense of humor, one I sometimes laugh along with and other times despise, and while those months of us getting to know each other through strained conversations and amusing texts were often long and painful, I found myself laughing along with the world then. This wonderful, vibrant, effervescent woman came crashing into my life, and nothing about it has ever been the same._

_Seriously. I have all kinds of lotions and shampoos in my shower, and you should see my kitchen cabinets. They’re overflowing with junk food, and yet you still have that delectable ass._

_Anyways, I’m getting off-topic. This is supposed to be a romantic letter, one you treasure forever, and I don’t think our children are going to enjoy hearing their father talk about their mum’s ass when they stumble across this one day._

_(It’s bloody fantastic.)_

_Emma (no middle name) Swan, I love you so much that words can’t even describe how I feel simply by knowing that you are my partner in life. I love you…more than anything. I love the way you unintentionally slap me in the morning, the way that your lips feel against mine, and the way that you laugh at my jokes, even the bad ones. I love that your nose scrunches up when you’re frustrated or amused, and I love that I’m lucky enough to know the difference. I love every freckle on your skin and every small quirk that you possess, like your inability to match your socks. I love that we never seem to run out of things to talk about, but we’re comfortable sitting in silence with our fingers intertwined as we watch whatever documentary we can find on television as you steal my food. I love that the intimacies of your heart, all of the affection and heartbreak residing inside of it, have been shared with me in the same way that I have shared mine with you._

_I love you, Emma. Every single part of you, everything that makes up who you are. The good, the bad, the ugly. We live in a world where perfection is sought after and glorified, but loving you is imperfect and messy and wonderful and the best damn decision that I’ve ever made._

_Until this one._

_Emma, love of my life, will you marry me?_

_Killian Andrew (asshole) Jones._

 

“Asshole,” she mutters out loud as she drops the letter onto her lap and wipes the tears from her eyes.

 

He is an asshole for making her cry before she’s had her coffee or breakfast or is even able to scroll through her phone to look at the pictures from the wedding last night. He is an asshole who she loves so damn much and who she can’t believe just proposed to her in a letter instead of asking her out loud.

 

(She most definitely can believe it.)

 

This is…this is the only way she’d ever want to be asked because this is how Killian has asked her. He’s so ridiculous and goofy and just…he’s a mess, but he’s her mess and quite possibly the most romantic man on the planet when she is quite possibly the least romantic woman on the planet.

 

Oh well. It works out for them.

 

Carefully folding the letter up and placing it back into the envelope so she can preserve this memory forever – her future children need to hear about how good of an ass she has right now, obviously – she throws the covers off of her legs and rises from the bed, not even bothering to brush her teeth before she’s walking into the living room and trying to find Killian. It only takes a quick scan of the room for her to find him sitting out on the balcony, his gaze toward the ocean and back toward her, and anticipation works its way over her entire body in the form of goosebumps rising on every inch of her skin.

 

This morning better not be a dream.

 

There’s no way it could be anything but real.

 

When she slides the glass door open, Killian doesn’t acknowledge her, doesn’t so much as look in her direction, but she can see the slightest quirk in his lips, a subtle uptick that has her absolutely beaming as she not-so-gracefully puts her knees on either side of his thighs and grabs his face with her hands, looking into the blue that seems to define so much of her life now.

 

“Well good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?”  
  


“Oh yeah, like a rock,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. So this is how he’s going to play it then, like everything is normal, and he can just snake his hand up underneath her shirt and mess with the clasp of her bra like they’re about to fuck on the balcony. They might, but that’s beside the point right now. “You?”

 

He yawns, something overexaggerated that makes his own nose scrunch up in a way that she also adores. “It was okay. My girlfriend kept rolling in her sleep and waking me up, so I got up early and did a few things around the apartment.”

 

“Yeah?” she questions as her fingers caress his face, tracing the lines that reside there and mark years of life and loss and laughter. “Like what?”

 

He hums, his fingers succeeding in unclasping her bra with practiced ease and his nails tracing her skin, before he presses forward and gently kisses her like this is any other morning. “I had my coffee, which really helped with the bit of headache that I had. Keeping up with you is _exhausting_.”

 

“I hear I’m vibrant and effervescent, so I would imagine so.”

 

She thinks he’s going to break then from the way that he smiles, but ever the strong force in her life, he holds steady. “You are most definitely those things. So I had my coffee, checked up on some news, answered a few emails that I’ve missed, scheduled myself to take a day off tomorrow, and then I wrote you a letter. Did you happen to see that?”

 

Emma arches a brow, vibrations and anticipation and everything that could possibly be a synonym for being excited coursing through her. “I did. It was kind of long, and I’m still half asleep, so I think you may have to read it to me.”

 

Killian chuckles as his fingers pinch the skin of her back before he’s moving his hand out from underneath her shirt and trailing it up her arms until he’s cupping her face in the way that she’s cupping his, a tangle of limbs that have never been more perfect.

 

“I love you, my darling, and I want to spend every day for the rest of my life with you. I am more than happy to choose you every day, and spend the rest of my life accidentally being slapped in the face in the mornings.”

 

“That’s close but not exactly what you said in the letter.”

 

An exasperated sigh escapes his lips as his forehead presses forward into hers, his warmth now absolutely everywhere just like it should be. “You are impossible. Will you marry me, Emma?”

 

There he goes.

 

“Yes, yes. Of course I will, Killian. How could I not when you write such poetic words about my ass?”

 

He barks out a laugh, one she feels against her lips and in her heart and probably somewhere in her soul in a romantic and non-creepy way. “I knew that would be what sold you on us spending our life together.”

 

“Well, you do know me. All I need is a love letter, a basket of baked goods, and someone talking about my ass to be happy.”

 

“And me?”

 

“Yeah,” she smiles, slowly gliding her lips over Killian’s in a moment that will be preserved just like all of the letters, “and you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say to all of you is 💜💜💜

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com) so stop by and shoot me a message!
> 
> Wonderful artwork by [captainsjedi](https://captainsjedi.tumblr.com) can also be found there!


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